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yumeyooa · 3 years ago

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revenge is brutally sweet | jeon jungkook

—jeon jungkook’s life so far has been going well. he’s the guitarist of the most famous band in the scene, he’s got the girl of his dreams, and everything he’s ever wished for is in the palm of his hands. what he doesn’t expect though, is to wake up one day in the middle of a controversy. what the controversy is, you may ask? a new band has been hitting the charts, and their lead singer is none other than you, a former member of the band and his ex-girlfriend.

➢ pairing: jeon jungkook x female! reader

➢ word count: 14.6k+

➢ love letter: AH SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG T_T I kinda drowned in midterms AHSHSHs but I hope you enjoy this fic <33 there’s more to this angsty collection to come so stay tuned!!

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Life couldn’t be any better.

This is what Jeon Jungkook constantly told himself every morning after his short, fifteen-minute shower while messily tousling his hair in an extra-soft towel as he takes in the dreary yet somehow vibrant view from his penthouse apartment, soaking in the sun’s rays.

The city was busy, even though the sun had just risen and bloomed into full glory. The streets were filled with people rushing to get wherever they needed to be, cars driving past with the fervor of a shackled mad man on wheels. If Jungkook looked closer, he would have probably seen the black exhaust drifting in the air from the fumes of those ecologically damaging vehicles or the frantic looks on an office worker’s face as they hurriedly crossed the street obviously late for work.

But alas, Jungkook couldn’t care less about the trials and tribulations of some strangers he didn’t even know. After all, his life was going great. In fact, he was literally walking on cloud nine at this point and felt like nothing had stopped him.

Of course, it wasn’t always this way, which was why Jungkook appreciated his success tenfold.

He, like every other success story, had started from the ground up. Music was something he had always dreamed of doing for the rest of his life. Ever since his grandfather had first shown him how to play the guitar, the melodies had wrapped their whimsical tunes around his heart and made themselves stay. It was fascinating to him how playing a couple of strings could produce such music that could move souls and bring smiles to people’s faces.

And ever since then, he was hooked. Every chance he got, he would play the guitar even if his parents tried to pry him off it.

They wanted him to be a doctor after all, and there was no way in hell he was going to go by their wishes. While being a doctor was great, it didn’t ignite the same spark that music did, and for Jungkook, he would rather die than live a life without his flame running ablaze.

So, against his parent’s wishes, he pursued a career in music. It wasn’t easy, of course. At first, he had no support system for his dream. His friends and teachers ridiculed and discouraged him, saying that the future was bleak and he had no hopes of making it big. But if Jungkook knew anything about himself, it would most likely have to do with the fact that he was extremely stubborn and persistent, much to the disappointment of the adults in his life.

So he continued. He continued reaching his dreams, joining every music-related activity he could at his age until he finally met Mr. Park.

Mr. Park was a bright man who came in one day as a replacement for their music teacher, who was an old lady who stuck to the classics and had a somewhat deceiving grading system. He came into class with disheveled hair, an unkempt tie, and when he turned around to write his name on the board, the whole class laughed as they could see his heart print underpants peeking through.

But despite his clumsiness and seemingly carefree nature, Mr. Park was a master at his craft. He was the epitome of what a music teacher should be; exceptionally skilled, eloquent, and passionate about what he did. But Mr. Park had another talent that not many knew about, which was the eye for potential.

And Mr. Park saw potential in Jungkook.

He had taken Jungkook under his wing and taught him the ropes of music life. The keys of the piano, how notes were read, how symphonies were made. And the more Jungkook learned, the more he yearned for a life surrounding music. When he voiced his wishes to Mr. Park, expecting to receive the same rejection he had always known, he was pleasantly surprised to find out that he had his support.

Mr. Park was the very first person who saw that Jungkook could have a future in music. He was the very first person who showed Jungkook that there was a path for him to take that was far better than the path his parents laid out for him. A rocky path filled with trials and tribulations but ultimately reaped great rewards in the end.

Like a moth drawn to its flame, Jungkook was attracted to the seemingly devastating path because somehow, amid the darkness, there was hope. Hope for a happier future, a future that wasn’t filled with regret and mourning but full of triumph and satisfaction. Jungkook would be a fool not to pursue the latter.

And thus, in hopes of finally seeing the light, Jungkook decided to start his own band.

It didn’t start off right away, though. After all, no kid at his school wanted to be part of a band that, in the eyes of their parents, was a complete waste of time. Jungkook kept his small dream hidden deep within his heart, yet even so, it still burned with an unyielding passion. Even if years passed and no opportunity for him to start a band was in sight, Jungkook didn’t give up, knowing that his persistence would one day reap great rewards.

And finally, his chance came in the form of you.

From the very beginning, Jungkook had always thought you were strange. In a prestigious school known for being the epitome of perfection and class, you were the odd one out, sticking out like a sore thumb with your disheveled appearance and undignified manner of carrying yourself. Almost immediately, you were set to be the outcast, ridiculed by your peers for your looks and mannerisms, even if, in Jungkook’s opinion, you weren’t doing anything out of the ordinary.

Unfortunately, the world is never kind to those who are different.

Jungkook’s phone rings from where it is laid on his bedside table, the alarm blaring loudly, causing a shift in the once serene atmosphere of his apartment. Jungkook pays it no mind at first, choosing to finish drying his hair before finally picking up the phone, voice groggy and slightly annoyed from having his peaceful morning interrupted.

“Who is it?” He hastily asks, not meaning to sound as harsh. But could he really be blamed when it was 7 AM in the morning, and he wasn’t expected to show up to any scheduled event until noon?

“Jungkook!” An exasperated voice exclaims from the other side of his phone. It was Namjoon, his manager, Jungkook, quickly concludes. Although it was rare for him to call so early in the morning, especially in such a panicked state. Perhaps he forgot to inform him of a schedule? Although that was annoying, Jungkook wouldn’t really mind. After all, work made money. But if that were the case, it would have been odd for Namjoon to be so panicked about it. The man was known for being reasonably level-headed even in times of extreme stress, so perhaps it was something else entirely.

“Did you read the news?” Namjoon quickly adds before Jungkook could ask what was wrong. At his question, Jungkook’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, quickly sitting down on the side of his bed and grabbing his iPad from the same bedside desk, unplugging the charger along the way.

“No,” he says as he types up the password into the Home Screen, laying his phone in between the juncture of his shoulder and ear. “Is there something I should be concerned about? I mean, it’s not like I got into a scandal or anything, right?”

Wrong.

Well, partly.

The moment Jungkook opens his Twitter, he’s surprised to see more notifications than usual. Of course, it was a given for him to have a ghastly amount of notifications as a celebrity. He did have a large fan base, after all. But the numbers on his screen far exceeded that of what he was used to, and amongst those notifications tagging his account, one article stood out amongst the rest, and the headline made his blood run cold.

“What the fuck?” He whispers, staring at the article in shock as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Am I seeing this right, Namjoon?”

The man on the other side of the phone is silent for a while before Jungkook hears a sigh. “Unfortunately, yes,” Namjoon says, and Jungkook can almost imagine the way he’s probably rubbing his temples together while sipping his cup of black coffee in his office out of stress and frustration

“(Y/N) is back,” he says, causing shivers to run down Jungkook’s spine. “And apparently Jungkook, she wrote a song about you.”

The day Jungkook finally mustered up the courage to talk to you for the first time was an experience, to say the least. For what felt like years, albeit it was only a few days, Jungkook had been observing you from the sidelines, watching as you were berated by his classmates, who apparently had nothing better to do with their time.

A part of Jungkook always felt guilty for never standing up for you. He knew you needed a friend. Someone to confide in this hellish school that made it seem as if it were every man for himself. But he was a coward, raised and molded to never take a step outside the boundaries he had set for himself, like a doll.

Although, with Mr. Park's influence, Jungkook could finally break free from his shell, even if it were just a mere few steps.

"Here," he says nervously, handing you a carton of banana milk that he had picked up from the nearest vending machine the moment he saw you storm out of the classroom in tears. Even then, your classmates had laughed, mocking how sensitive you were, which disgusted Jungkook. Didn't they have any ounce of shame for making a person cry like that?

You look up from where you sat on the school's staircase, eyes puffy from crying so hard, a stream of tears still flowing down your face. You looked like an absolute mess, and the sight only caused Jungkook's heart to clench even more. He sat beside you, albeit a bit distanced because he couldn't help but feel awkward. This was your first conversation, after all.

You stare at him, not entirely understanding why he would extend kindness towards you. Was this a trick of fate? Was he doing this so you would someday do his bidding in the future? The kids of this school were scary, even scarier than the monsters that hid underneath your bed or the creatures that roamed around in the dead of night. Even amidst the light, they scared you, and you were terrified that the man offering you some banana milk would be just the same.

"You don't have to take it if you don't want to," Jungkook says, after realizing you were staring at him warily, cautious over whether or not you would accept his gift. "Sweets always cheered me up whenever I feel down, and I thought maybe it would cheer you up too!"

If anyone were to see your interaction, they would have burst out laughing from how awkward it was. You who were wary and cautious, and Jungkook who was awkward and shy. A stark difference between your usual timid behavior and Jungkook's confident act. In fact, if anyone else were to see this, they would have never believed their eyes.

It was odd, after all. And you knew this very well. Which was why you were so confused at Jungkook's behavior. Why was he approaching you so kindly when everyone else ridiculed and shunned you out? You were different, someone who didn't deserve to be there. An imposter, an intruder. It didn't make sense for him to act friendly.

"Don't take this the wrong way," Jungkook continues, setting down the banana milk in the space between the two of you as he fiddled with his fingers, a habit he had picked up over time. "I'm not doing this to mock you or make fun of you later down the line… I just really don't like the way they're treating you. It's not right."

You're stunned. Rightfully so. This was the first time someone had ever gone against what others did to you, despite him doing so behind the scenes. A weird sensation bubbles up from inside you, one you can't quite place. But what you do know is that amidst it all, there's warmth. Jungkook's words sounded genuine and sincere, not like the usual condescending tone you were used to hearing from the rest of your peers.

He genuinely seemed to care.

Jungkook's eyes widen in surprise when he sees you grab the carton of banana milk, opening the straw in pushing it through, taking a sip. You sheepishly stare down, not even bothering to look Jungkook in the eye before muttering. "I prefer strawberry milk… but this isn't that bad... I guess… Thanks…"

His eyes gleam, happy that you've accepted his offering and watching with a content smile as a small smile of your own forms on your lips, a far cry from the mess you were mere moments ago. He had somehow managed to cheer you up, and that was better than anything Jungkook could ever ask for.

"No problem. Next time I'll buy you a whole box of strawberry milk!" He exclaims, excited for what was about to unfold between the two of you.

But he would have never expected this.

And on this week's celebrity news: Former Vocalist of The 97, (L/N) (Y/N) debuts solo with her new single 'Move On', which fans speculate is a direct message to her ex-boyfriend and former bandmate Jeon Jungkook.

"Fuck!" Jungkook exclaims, overcome with emotion, as he watches the news unfold in the conference room of his label. He had quickly made his way over the moment he saw the headline, confused, devastated, and most of all angry.

What in the world were you thinking, dragging him down like that?

"Jungkook, calm down," Namjoon says from the other side of the room, trying to prevent Jungkook from destroying the room. Jungkook was strong. And if he really wanted to, he could turn the whole conference room upside down in a blink of an eye, and Namjoon really didn't want to deal with whatever consequence would follow should Jungkook actually decide that he'd destroy the conference room.

"How the fuck do you expect me to be calm, Namjoon?" Jungkook asks, exasperated as he walks from one end of the room to the other. "This is going to ruin my fucking reputation. And it's all because that bitch is too bitter about our breakup that she decided to fucking write a song about it."

"Hey." Another voice calls out, stern and ready to scold. Jaehyun, the band's bassist, glares at Jungkook with as much disdain as he could muster, not believing the words that came out of Jungkook's mouth. "No matter how you feel about the situation. I'm not going to stand by and let you call (Y/N) a bitch. She was and still is our friend. Just because you're so caught up in your perfect reputation doesn't mean you have to bring others down in the process, Jeon."

It was rare for Jaehyun to ever call Jungkook by his last name. The two were as close as could be, having been the best of friends for more than ten years and counting. Jungkook knew he could trust Jaehyun with his life and vice versa, so it shocked him to hear that his best friend was defending her.

"But Jungkook has every reason to be mad, Jaehyun!" Another voice pops up, this time a more feminine one that has Jungkook's heart-melting just a bit. Eunha, his current girlfriend, and the one who was there for him when you left him. She was the band's current vocalist, and Jungkook couldn't feel any more grateful to have someone as supportive as her in his life.

"She's using a personal situation to make her more popular, all the while bringing us down in the process! There's nothing else to call her but a bitch when she's hurting the band she started with! Is that how she says thank you when the band's been nothing but good to her?

It's incredible, Jungkook thinks to himself, how he was able to find someone like Eunha. She was the most compassionate and understanding person in the world, a far cry from what you had become. Bitter, selfish, and downright ungrateful. You probably wrote that song out of spite just to get back at him when he did nothing wrong in the first place. You were crazy, and he was glad Eunha allowed him to see through all of your lies.

"Shut the fuck up, will you?" Jungkook's eyes darted in surprise to Yugyeom, the band's drummer, who had just cursed at his girlfriend. He glares at the drummer, mad at the fact that the usual happy-go-lucky man was now acting bitter in front of his girlfriend, who had done nothing wrong. Were his bandmates woven that deep within your cruel lies?

"Excuse me, what did you just say?" Eunha asks, appalled, tears forming from the corners of her eyes, which only causes the anger within Jungkook to grow. How dare they. How dare they make Eunha cry when she was doing nothing but telling the truth?

"You heard me, Eunha," Yugyeom continues, paying no mind to the burning rage that was about to burst within Jungkook. "I said shut the fuck up. So what if (Y/N) wrote a song about Jungkook? Why does it matter? She has every right to. I mean, our next single is literally a song Jungkook wrote after the breakup, so why the fuck are you berating her for doing the same?"

"Because she's hurting our reputation!" Eunha exclaims, clearly frustrated at how Yugyeom and Jaehyun weren't getting her point. "And besides, she was the one in the wrong during the breakup. What right does she have to make a song about it?"

Jaehyun scoffs, glare intensifying, causing Jungkook to clench his fist at their hostility. "And how do you know that when you only heard Jungkook's side of the story and not (Y/N) 's? For all we know, Jungkook could also be in the wro—"

Before Jaehyun could finish his sentence, Jungkook explodes, immediately rushing over to where Jaehyun sat and grabbing him by the collar, causing the rest of the band and Namjoon to panic, trying to break them apart, while Eunha watches, scared.

"You motherfucker," Jungkook curses, hand raised into a fist, ready to punch Jaehyun in the face with all the force he could muster. But before he could do so, Namjoon and Yugyeom immediately held him back, causing Jaehyun to let out shaky breaths as he glared at Jungkook, hurt, confused, and angry. "Why are you defending her? She was the one who hurt me! You're supposed to be my fucking best friend!"

"Maybe if you actually listened to what she had to say and what she was going through, then we wouldn't be in this situation in the first place," Jaehyun screamed back, anger slowly growing as each moment passed by. "You've always been like this Jungkook, self-centered and fucking mean. (Y/N) was right for wanting to leave."

"What did you say, you fucki—"

"Enough!" Namjoon screams, holding his ground. This had gotten out of hand, and it was beginning to stress him out, and clearly, that same stress was spreading through every single person in the room. This wasn't even supposed to be that big of a deal. All they were supposed to do was listen to the song you wrote, and come up with a statement, So why the hell did this turn into a full-blown fight?

Gosh, Namjoon needed a raise.

"Jeon Jungkook calm the fuck down, or I'll have you on probation, you hear? The same goes for all of you. I don't want to hear any bullshit about who's right or wrong in the relationship. All I need is for us to listen to the song and figure out what we're going to tell the higher-ups. So stop acting like you're a bunch of teenagers and sit down."

Usually, Namjoon wasn't this scary. But there was a glint in his eyes that taunted the band. And they knew that in the heat of the moment, the best thing to do was to shut up and listen. Besides, he was right. The way they were going, no progress would have been made, leading to further complications. With a huff, Jungkook sits down, staring grumpily into space. He wasn't comfortable with what had just occurred, a frenzy of emotions bottling up inside him from the outburst.

Luckily for him, Eunha was quick to hold his hand into hers, soothing him enough to calm his nerves and mentally prepare himself for what was about to unfold. Because he knew he wasn't going to like it.

And true to his words, the moment Namjoon pressed play, he didn't like it. Not one bit.

Jungkook couldn't quite pin why your song made his blood boil and heart clench. From an outsider's perspective, it was a good song. A really good song. As a musician himself, Jungkook would never deny that. You had a knack for creating some really great tunes that were out of this world, after all. It was the very thing that made him ask you to start a band with him in the first place.

But there was just something about this piece in particular that seemed different. Your very aura was different, Jungkook concluded as he watched the video, listening to the way you screamed about how good it was that he was able to move on while you haven't. How you laced memories and fragments of your relationship and expertly wove them together to create a masterpiece that echoed into the very depths of his beating heart.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth. Because amidst the chaos, you looked free.

There was something beautiful about the way you were in the middle of a room up in flames, almost to the point where Jungkook knew that it was metaphorical. You liked metaphors. Jungkook remembers how long ago, when the band was just the two of you, you mentioned how metaphors brought out the beauty of the world. They made the ordinary extraordinary. They made the dull come to life. Metaphors were beauty itself, and that's precisely why you loved to play with them so much.

It's funny to see how that part of you hadn't changed, even after how many years.

"Jungkook?" Eunha calls out to him, a concerned look gracing over her face. "You okay?"

Honestly speaking, Jungkook didn't know. The high of his anger had finally settled, and all Jungkook felt was a burning numbness scouring through his veins. It's laughable how mere hours ago, Jungkook was sure that today would be another great day to celebrate how amazing his life was. Yet, here he is, in the middle of a conference room, watching as you submerged yourself underwater at the last scene of your music video, feeling empty.

He doesn't directly answer Eunha, afraid that if he were to say anything, unwanted words would slip from his lips, and he would unleash another round of chaos and hell. And he was too mentally exhausted to go through that again. So he merely nods, clasping Eunha's hand gently and sighing as Namjoon pauses the video, turning towards the group.

"Well," Namjoon says, surveying the room to see the band's reactions. But who was he kidding? He knew damn well that the band wasn't nearly overjoyed seeing and hearing what their old friend had to say, especially Jungkook. The poor kid looked lost. "That's that. It looks too vague to be considered a song catered to Jungkook, so I'll inform the higher-ups that it has nothing to do wi--"

Suddenly, Jungkook stands up, causing a deafening silence to befall once more as everyone watches him with cautious eyes, afraid of what he was about to do.

"I'm going to get a drink," is all he says, moving to head out the door. No one really says anything in protest, Yugyeom and Jaehyun still feeling the aftermath of the previous fight. Only Eunha seemed to be visibly bothered, scoffing at the rest of the team's reactions before quickly latching on to Jungkook's arm.

"Babe, it's still early in the morning. At least let me accompany you?" She asks, that hopeful glint burning brightly in her eyes, to the point that it makes Jaehyun recline back in his seat uncomfortably, not liking the way she seemed so unnatural. You were never like that. And while Jaehyun knew it was wrong to make comparisons, he couldn't help it.

You were his best friend just as much as Jungkook was.

"I'll go alone," is all Jungkook whispers, shrugging Eunha off who is about to protest, but Namjoon is quick to shut her up with a gentle hand on her shoulder, shaking his head when she tries to chase after him. Jungkook needed to settle down and sort his thoughts through if he ever wanted a chance at getting through this situation with you.

And maybe, just maybe, he could finally make amends.

“Do you have a dream?”

This was the question that started it all, Jungkook supposed. He remembers the very day you asked him that one decisive question that, looking back, changed both of your lives. For good or for worse, Jungkook wasn’t sure. But as he reminisces the memories of the past and tries to figure out where everything went wrong, he couldn’t help the gut-wrenching feeling that settles within him. It’s so upsetting, in fact, that the moment Jungkook arrives in the pub across the street, he immediately drowns himself in a bottle of soju.

The two of you were spending the lunch break in the empty stairwell, the same place where the two of you first met and the same place where the two of you gradually started to hang out. It was a quiet space, free from the condescending eyes of the perfection-seeking kids you called classmates. It was a space where you and Jungkook could be free, even for just a little while.

Sipping on his banana milk, Jungkook looks at you curiously. You were staring at the strawberry milk he had bought you, fiddling with it nervously, not even bothering to look him in the eye. He wonders what goes on through your mind, what thoughts dance around within its hollow crevices, shaking you up and causing you to become a nervous wreck. Especially when the question wasn’t as bad as you were probably thinking.

“Hmm, do you want the honest answer or the answer everyone wants to hear?” He asks back, looking up at the ceiling. For an elite school, they didn’t do well to maintain the more hidden areas. Was that a sign that they really didn’t care about things that weren’t relevant to them? Maybe. Maybe not. Jungkook didn’t particularly care. It was just more bearable t stare at the ceiling than sit in awkward silence,

“Honest,” you say after a few moments, much more confident than a few moments ago. After hanging out with you for a few months and observing you within the silence of your conversations, Jungkook somehow knows that no matter what he’d do, you would forever be shy. Regardless if you knew someone well or not, the first moments of conversation would always be parallel to a first meeting. It was a curious thing, honestly. But it was more intriguing once he realized that your confidence grew the more you spoke.

In a way, it was kind of cute.

“I wanna make music,” Jungkook says after snapping himself out of his trance. He once again averts his gaze from yours, but this time it wasn’t to avoid silence, but rather to think, to immerse himself in his thoughts. Because this was the first time, someone had asked him what he truly wanted to do with life. The first time someone wanted an honest answer from him, not a polished response set up to please his parents and peers.

“Not the classical kind, though,” he continues, smiling softly to himself. “Not really fond of it as much as you think.” From the corner of his eyes, Jungkook can see you gaping at him in surprise, and it causes him to chuckle. You were never really expressive beyond the weary walls of the seemingly abandoned stairwell. To the rest of the student body, you were expressionless. Someone who took all the beatings and ridicules with a blank face. As if you were a doll, waiting to be ruined.

But here, you were much more alive. Much more expressive than Jungkook was used to seeing. It was as if the (Y/N) beyond the worn steps of the stairwell was an entirely different person. A mask you placed upon yourself to protect your heart from the cruel reality you had come to face. And Jungkook was more than fascinated at the fact that you had brought that mask down for him.

“If I could, I’d do rock, maybe even some metal If I got enough courage,” he continues, smiling to himself unknowingly giddy at the sight of you. “There’s just something different about it, you know? The music runs through your system and gets you all hyped up; you just can’t resist it. And when the beat drops, it’s as if your emotions are on an all-time high, and it weirdly makes you kind of free. It made me realize that this was what music was supposed to be, I guess.”

“Wow,” you mutter, after staying within the silence of your initial awe. “That’s... poetic.” Jungkook laughs at the look of disbelief in his face, shooting his empty carton of banana milk in the air and watching in satisfaction as it lands straight into the empty trash can just right down the corner before turning to you, a grin high on his lips.

“Oh, come on,” he whines, rolling his eyes playfully. “Why do you sound so surprised? Do I not look like I’d be a good musician?”

“It’s not that!” You quickly exclaim in your defense, flailing your arms in the air to avert Jungkook’s thoughts about the situation. Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook was only joking, highly amused at your reactions, wanting to see more. “I just assumed you’d be more into sports, you know, since you’re so good at it? If you ask me, you kind of look like you’d do well in either football or basketball… so I just kind of assumed that was what you wanted to actually pursue. Not that wanting to pursue music is a bad thing! It’s great, it’s just that rock is kind of unexpected....”

You were beginning to ramble at this point, the shy sheep from within you bursting forth as you fiddled with your thumbs nervously, anxious to see Jungkook’s reaction. Would he be mad at you for assuming things about him off the bat? Probably not, right? You did initiate the conversation by asking him what his dream was, after all. Wait, maybe this was your fault. Gosh, you should have just asked any other question that wasn’t as deep.

This friendship thing was too difficult for your liking.

As you bury yourself in your thoughts, Jungkook couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. It was small at first, almost going unheard by you who was so deeply consumed by the matters of your mind, but the more Jungkook laughed, the louder he got until he was full-on cackling, much to your dismay, confusion, and shock.

“What’s so funny?” You ask frantically, trying to make sense of his actions. Did you say something wrong? As far as you knew, you hadn’t, but what if you had and accidentally crossed the line? You hoped not. You really didn’t want to screw any chance you had at having a real, genuine friend. But to your dismay, your questions remain unanswered as Jungkook continues to laugh, almost as if he wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon.

“Hey!” You exclaim, pouting. “Stop laughing at me, Jungkook!”

“I-i’m sorry,” He says after a few more laughs, trying to wipe the tears that were beginning to form in his eyes. “I couldn’t help it,” He laughs again, although this time, it seems as if he’s calmed down, sporting a cheeky smile. “Your reactions are just something else!”

Jungkook watches as you become flustered, once more, much to his fascination and amusement. He’s never been the teasing type, or more like, he’s never had the opportunity to become the teasing type, especially with the perfect image he had to curate in front of his peers. But he liked this. He liked being friends with you. It made him all the more free.

“What about you?” He suddenly asks after a while, feeling that it was high time to cut you some slack. You look up at him in confusion as if you had entirely forgotten why this entire conversation had happened in the first place. “Do you have a dream?”

It’s silent, yet this time, Jungkook notes, the silence is uncanny. It’s not the same comfortable silence that Jungkook is used to whenever he was hanging out with you. It was as if the silence had suddenly crashed down and enveloped the cheery atmosphere in its deceitful arms. A trap, if you will.

And Jungkook was unsure whether he wanted to break free from it or stay there with you.

But you take the first step, finally looking up to meet him in the eyes, and Jungkook can feel his heart sink just a tad bit from how empty and solemn they were. “I don’t think so,” is all you say, brushing off the concerned look on Jungkook’s face with a smile. “I’ve never really given it much thought. That’s why I asked,” you chuckle halfheartedly, staring up at the ceiling. “Although I think it would be nice,” you say, smiling a bit more genuinely. “You know, to have a dream?”

Jungkook doesn’t know what to say. How was he supposed to react to that, anyway? No matter how difficult his life was, he had always had a dream. It kept him going, made him push through no matter the difficulty. Dreams were the driving force of life. The hope amidst the darkness. To not have a dream, even just a small one, rattled Jungkook.

It terrified him because now Jungkook realized that he knew nothing about you despite you being his first friend. He didn’t know the reason why you decided to become a living doll in the eyes of others. He didn’t understand why you subjected yourself to such suffering when, from the small talks you and Jungkook had with each other, you seemed to have a loving family.

He wanted to help you, to be there for you. Because he wasn’t sure whether or not you were actually feeling lost. That’s what friends were for, right? Jungkook wasn’t exactly sure on how to do this whole friendship thing, but if there was one thing he did know, it was the fact that friends helped each other.

And Jungkook would be damned if he couldn’t help you in any way that he could.

Soju bottles littered the lone table that Jungkook sat upon. At this point, he wasn’t sure how many bottles he had drunk, but it sure was many, more than he could handle if he were, to be honest, but amidst his drunken state, he just couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Why was he acting like this anyway?

He was supposed to be happy. His band was one of the most successful ones out there. He had thousands, if not millions of fans, who supported him in everything he did. So why, just why was this insignificant matter affecting him so greatly?

Was it because it was you?

“Dear, are you alright?” The old woman, running the pub asks, concerned as she sets down a piping hot bowl of warm hangover soup, which has Jungkook’s mouth watering to the point where drool almost seeps out, mainly because he only had a bite of a sandwich on his way to the office which Eunha forcibly made him eat. But even so, he couldn’t bring himself to eat, especially with the array of emotions that were burning deep within him. “Do you need me to call someone for you?”

Jungkook stays silent, not even bothering to respond to the old lady, who only grows wearier at the lack of response. He didn’t mean to be rude. It was just that he couldn’t find the strength to actually do anything but wallow in his own misery. His thoughts were going on haywire, with no place to land in sight.

What had he done to deserve this? He was sure he had done nothing wrong, so why were you doing this to him when all he had done was, be nothing but nice to you? He had supported you ever since the beginning, and this was how you repaid him?

He doesn’t notice how the old lady leaves to call someone from the company, despite him not saying anything. It was probably for the best anyway. He was too out of it to even ask for help. The old lady was right and kind for going out of her way to do this for him. Although it made sense, after all, this specific pub was where Jungkook had been drinking ever since he had reached adulthood.

Maybe she would call Namjoon? It was likely, but Jungkook hoped not. He was sure that if Namjoon were to see his sorry state, he would scold him until his ears bled out. Although he couldn’t really blame Namjoon, if any manager were to see their client drinking away their woes like he was, they would probably freak out. Primarily since he was known for drinking at most two bottles. Jungkook just really didn’t want to deal with Namjoon right now, especially after what had transpired earlier.

He hoped that she would call Eunha. Sweet, loveable Eunha, who was there for him when the shitshow that was his breakup with you went down. Even until now, Jungkook was still in the dark of why you had left him and the band, but Eunha was the one who stayed by his side. Ever since he had met her two years ago when she first entered the company, they had become the best of friends. And now she was his girlfriend, and he couldn’t be happier.

All of a sudden, a familiar voice wafts through the empty pub. One that has Jungkook’s head whipping everywhere it could to figure out where it was coming from. It was sweet, melodic even. But at the same time, it had a hint of melancholy and freedom? Why was the voice so familiar? Where had he heard it before?

Jungkook’s eyes darted around, trying to see if he could spot the culprit behind his dilemma until they finally landed on the wide TV that sat in the middle of the pub, presumably for their customer’s enjoyment. And lo and behold, in his eyes, he sees you.

It was a local music show where famous stars would often find themselves performing to promote their new music. He assumed you were there to perform your new single, the one song that had him sitting here broken and destroyed with pride in your chest. Did you enjoy this?

Did you enjoy knowing that he was broken because of you?

He hated it. He hated how bright your smile was the moment he caught sight of the camera focusing on you as the hosts began their interview. You were brilliant, cheery, happy. And it sickened Jungkook to the core. Why did it seem like you were doing fine when he was here all bothered? How selfish could you possibly be?

But as much as it hurts him, he can’t find it in himself to look away. It’s a strange sensation that Jungkook couldn’t quite explain. Why couldn’t he avert his eyes from you when all he’s been feeling today was pain? It didn’t make sense. But honestly, Jungkook couldn’t tell what made sense anymore.

He watches you sing, hearing those blasted lyrics that made him rage just mere moments ago. Yet, this time, the lyrics made his heart clench. Perhaps it was the fact that your performance seemed more genuine because you were singing live. But why? Why were you singing those lyrics as if they had genuinely happened to you? Jungkook never caused you any pain, so why did it seem as if you were hurting more than him?

The thoughts were too much. It was driving Jungkook crazy, and all he wanted to do was drown in them. He didn’t want to think. Thinking heightened the pain that brimmed deep within his chest. He just wanted to float in the ocean of his misery and stay there, hoping that someday he would land ashore and the pain would come to an end.

Maybe if he took one more shot, it would help?

He pours down the last remaining soju into his shot glass, not caring if it overflowed and spilled out on the table. Rationality was far out of his mind at this point. All Jungkook wanted to do was do anything that would make him feel numb.

He raises the glass shakily, ready to feel the burning sensation of the alcohol run down his throat, that temporary relief that made him sink deep down into this endless cycle of emptiness. Yet, it doesn’t happen.

A hand shoots down to stop his wrist. It’s a familiar yet unfamiliar hold, something Jungkook can’t quite place. Where has he felt this hold before? He looks up, his eyesight a bit blurry from his drunken state, so he squints, trying to see clearly.

Who was it? Namjoon? Eunha? Heck, Jaehyun?

Turns out it was none of them.

When his sight finally clears, he gasps in shock, breath hitching in his throat as he takes it all in. Because the person, whose hold was familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time, wasn’t his manager, nor was it his girlfriend or best friend.

It was you.

The person, the old lady, had called to get him was you.

Well, Jungkook be damned.

When you got the call from the old lady, you were on your way to your new studio after finishing up a schedule you had prior. The past few weeks have been busy for you. Leaving the band and Jungkook was no easy feat. It was a decision that you knew was a high-risk, high reward yet at the same time had higher chances of failure.

After all, even if you hated to admit it. Without the band, you had nothing.

Sure, there was the fame that came with all of the band’s success. You were the vocalist, after all. It was exhilarating knowing that millions out there would be listening to your voice, singing music you created with people you loved dearly. But in the midst of all of that, there was nothing.

Jungkook, Jaehyun, and Yugyeom had everything going on for them. A backup plan in case the band didn’t succeed. A plan B, if you will. It made sense. They had privilege dripping from the palms of their hand, after all. Even if they had their own troubles and doubts, they didn’t have to worry about finding another way out because there already was a path laid out for them in the beginning.

You went into all of this, risking everything.

It was a choice that you had seemingly made on impulse if an outsider were to look back at the situation. When Jungkook had asked you to start a band with him, it was during another one of your many lunch dates, as you two had jokingly called it. Only this time, the two of you weren’t sitting on the cold and empty stairwell, but instead, you were in the old music room.

“I can’t believe this,” Jungkook mumbles to himself as he cranks the rusted door of the old music room open. People barely used it nowadays, much to his disbelief yet relief at the same time. He couldn’t blame them though, the brand new music room was much more enchanting, filled with top-of-the-grade musical instruments than anyone would drool over.

Well, at least it meant that he could have autonomy over the room (even though that wasn’t really the case). “You’re telling me that you never heard rock or metal before?” He gapes in disbelief as he sits on one of the dusty desks, looking at you with an outraged expression. You sheepishly enter behind him, taking a sip of your drink as you took a seat beside him.

“You never asked,” is all you say, shrugging. Jungkook looks at you once more incredulously, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes and ears. “That’s because I assumed you would have known what rock and metal are! They’re like the greatest music genres of all time. How can you not know it?”

You shrug once more, not really having an answer. Well, you did, but it was probably stupid. After all, if this was his reaction to you not knowing about rock and metal. What would his response be if he were to find out that the only music you’d ever listened to was classical and nursery rhymes? Yeah, probably not a good idea.

“Well, get ready then,” he exclaims, bringing out his phone, much to your surprise. Model student and Mr. Perfect Jeon Jungkook breaking a school rule? Who would have thought that you’d ever lived to see the day? “Because you’re about to experience an awakening, I tell you. A revolution!”

It’s amusing, really. You had never seen Jungkook as passionate as he was at the moment. Was this what it was like to have a dream? His eyes lit up as if sparkles were floating around him. As if he were about to step on cloud nine and enter paradise. He was bouncing his leg lightly in excitement, a goofy smile on his face that kind of reminded you of a bunny.

Maybe having a dream wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

He immediately scoots over to you once he has his phone ready, grabbing his earphones and plugging it into his phone, handing you the other ear. You hold it, a small smile on your face, and hook it unto your ear, not really knowing what to expect but excited all the same. After all, this was the music that made your best friend passionate and hopeful for the future. For sure, it wouldn’t be bad, right?

Well, to say the least, it was an experience. An experience you couldn’t quite tell if you enjoyed or couldn’t fathom. It was entirely different from the music that you were used to. From the bright and soothing tones came ones that were heavy and thundered on your ears. Yet, in a way, it was exhilarating.

You could see why Jungkook was attracted to this style of music. In a way, it was unhinged, a little more rebellious than the traditional types of music you were used to. But that didn’t mean it was worse. In fact, that’s what made it more exciting. Jungkook was right. In those few minutes that he had introduced you to the world of rock, you’ve gone through an array of emotions, from confusion to thrill and excitement of the highest level. The rollercoaster of new sensations was, to say the least, intoxicating,

Because immediately you got hooked.

“Wow,” you mutter, looking up at Jungkook, who was looking back at you with lively eyes. “That was… something else.”

“Right?!” He exclaims, immediately jumping off the desk to grasp your hands in excitement; it was endearing to see. Jungkook rarely got riled up like this. Music truly brought out the best in him, you thought to yourself, watching as he continued to dangle your hands in his. “Isn’t rock just amazing? Oh, what I’d do to pick up an electric guitar and play,” He sighs, and you can tell from the far-away look on his face that he’s daydreaming about something and the sight warms your heart.

“You should,” is all you say, startling Jungkook out of his trance. “I think you’d do absolutely great in music, Jungkook! You should go for it.” Jungkook looks at you, stunned. He blinks, trying to process what you had just said, before clasping your fingers a bit tighter, unsure of himself.

“Really?” He mutters softly, “You really think I can do it?”

“Of course,” you encourage with a bright smile. “If it’s you, then you can do anything!”

It’s silent for a moment, with Jungkook deep in thought. But you don’t necessarily mind, as more than anything, you understood the weight of your words. Being Jungkook’s friend meant that you stuck by him through a lot of undesirable moments, moments that both of you promised to never speak of unless it was absolutely necessary.

You knew how much he longed for his dreams. Ever since that rather inspiring conversation you had around a week ago, you knew just how much Jungkook bottled up his true passions and desires, even though there were moments wherein he would freely let them out.

“Then you have to be there with me,” he says, eyes filled with determination. “I don’t think I can do this without you (Y/N).”

Looking back at it, you chuckle at how swooned you were with Jungkook’s words. It was crazy to think that he had swept you off your feet with a mere ten words that ultimately decided the course of a good chunk of your life. You let him, and for that, you were to blame, But that didn’t necessarily mean that you regretted your decision in its entirety.

Suddenly, your phone rings from beside you, and you grab it from where it lay in your purse, only to see an old number that you hadn’t seen in a while. It’s been a year, you think, as you accept the call, pressing your phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“(Y/N) dear! It’s been such a long time!” You smile at the cheery sound present within the old lady’s voice, although you can’t deny that you hear a twinge of worry within it. You used to go to her pub every so often back when you were still in the band. And the old lady had been such a sweet soul, acting as some sort of parental figure to you and your bandmates through the years.

“It’s good to hear from you again,” you mutter, pleasantly surprised at her sudden call but also a bit suspicious because you had no idea what she was calling for. “May I ask why you’re calling me?”

“Ah!” The old lady exclaims, and suddenly the initial chirp present within her fades into a frantic tone that has your eyebrows furrowing in confusion, not sure what to expect. “Do you mind picking up your boyfriend?”

You blink, confused and startled. “I’m sorry,” you say, still not processing it clearly. “What was that?”

You hear a sigh from the other side of the phone. It sounds tiring, exasperated even, Which shouldn’t be the case since the pub usually opens up later at night. It was only open during the day for company employees. And what sane person would cause trouble with this much sunlight out?

“Your boyfriend dear,” the old lady continues, sounding absolutely done, yet at the same time, the concern was still there, and you swear you hear the sound of glass falling in the back, causing your eyebrows to furrow in worry. “He’s been drinking for hours, and this is more than he’s ever drunk!”

You stay silent, letting it all sink in. The only person she could have possibly been referring to was Jungkook. There was no doubt about that. After all, the old lady’s pub was where you and Jungkook would often find yourselves having late-night rendezvous, drinking the night away as you bonded over whatever life was throwing at you within those moments.

But now, the pub gave you nothing but pain.

“Grandma, I’m sorry to tell you this, but me and Jungkook aren’t—”

“—So you’ll come, yes? Thank you, dear! Truly a lifesaver!”

She hangs up. You stare at your phone in disbelief, shocked at the predicament you had unknowingly gotten yourself into. What were you supposed to do now? The responsible thing to do was to probably phone Namjoon and tell him about the situation. But with what had just transpired earlier today with the release of your single last night and your performance this morning, you’re not so sure he would appreciate any sort of contact from you.

With a sigh, you turn to head towards the pub. No matter how much you hated Jungkook for the way he treated you within the last few stages of your relationship, you couldn’t leave him alone to wallow in his misery (even though there was a part of you that was secretly glad that he was torn because of you). It would be too cruel of you. Especially considering that Jungkook had been a significant part of your life.

Huh, guess you haven’t moved on as much as you thought you had.

Even just reaching the pub brought back memories that you wish wouldn’t resurface. You and Jungkook used to wrestle over who would open the door for the other, and more often than not, Jungkook won. But you weren’t one to lose quickly, even to him.

The familiar jingle that came with opening the door brought a pang of nostalgia to your heart. When you and Jungkook would enter the pub, just ten seconds after the jingle faded away, the old lady would come out of her quaint kitchen and say

“Welcome home— Oh, there you are, dear!”

Not exactly how you remembered it, but it was still familiar all the same.

“Hello grandma, how are you?” You greet with a solemn smile, watching with fond eyes as the old lady comes up to clasp your hands within her own. “Oh dear, I haven’t seen you in forever. Why haven’t you visited in so long?”

You’re not sure what to say. How are you supposed to tell her that you left and broke up with the man she asked you to pick up? That would put her in an awkward position, and you didn’t want to cause stress for the already weary lady.

“Oh, never mind that,” she says, luckily dropping the subject. “Come in, come in, your boyfriend’s over there drinking in the corner. Did something happen? I’ve honestly never seen him drink this much before. At this rate, he’s going to finish my soju supply before I open up for the night!”

You enter the main area, and immediately you’re hit with the familiar, comforting scent of alcohol and home-cooked meals, as odd as it sounds. Although the smell of alcohol was by far heavier in the air, and as you turn to look for the source, your eyes land in Jungkook.

And you’re, for lack of a better word, shocked.

It was almost as if he was drowning in an ocean of soju bottles, with some of the alcohol dripping off the table and into the ground or his clothes. Partly because he was pouring himself another shot, which you know he can’t take.

He could barely handle two bottles when the two of you were dating, so why did it feel like he was drinking more than ten. If he wasn’t stopped now, something majorly damaging could happen to him, and as much as you never wanted to speak to him, you couldn’t just ignore him when he was literally on the brink of life and death.

You stomp on over to where he’s at, hastily quickening your steps as he’s about to down his last shot, and before you can even think about what to do, your instincts act on their own, and your hand reaches out to him, stopping him.

No words are spoken. Rather, you can’t find the words to say as you watch with solemn eyes as Jungkook looks at his hand confused. He tries to shake it, to move his arm so he can bring the shot glass to his lips, but you remain firm in your grip, clasping just a bit harder so he wouldn’t push through with the shot.

He looks around, following the trail left by your grasp until he meets your eyes, and already you can feel the whirlwind of emotions bubbling up inside you. This was the first time you and Jungkook have met after the breakup after leaving the band. You never expected the two of you to meet this way. Although, you supposed life was funny like that. It liked to throw unexpected situations in your face, especially in the most inappropriate times.

You watch as he squints, trying to make sense of who you were before he gasps, arm slacking, falling into the side as the alcohol from the shot glass splatters into the air. He squints once more as if trying to ensure that what he was seeing in front of him was real before stammering.

“(Y/N)?” He whispers, broken, voice breaking. You try not to let your emotions show, knowing that if you do, he’d only lure you back into him, which was something you did not want at all. You were done. After many months, heck years of being torn apart by him, you couldn’t afford any more pain. It would break you even more than it already did,

“Hey,” you whisper back, breath hitching as you watch the way Jungkook’s eyes widen at the sound of your voice, loud and clear for him to hear. Even with his drunken state, he can’t deny the pang of nostalgia that runs through his veins once he finally registers that it’s you standing before him. In the flesh. Not a vision on TV or a picture of you from his memories.

It was you.

“What are you doing here?” He slurs, trying to reach out to you, but you move away, refusing him any form of affection. Because you two were too far gone for that.

“Grandma called,” is all you say, the disappointed look in Jungkook’s eyes not going unnoticed. “Asked me to pick you up. Said you’ve been drinking more than you used to and… I can see that.”

You gesture to the empty soju bottles that littered the table with a grimace, turning back to Jungkook only to hear him scoff and point a finger to you accusingly, although with his drunken state, his posture was way off. “Who do you think’s to blame?” He asks, sarcasm laced within his tone. You raise an eyebrow at that, choosing to let him continue before you could offer back any sarcastic remark of your own.

“It’s you!” He continues, slamming his fist to the table, much to your surprise. “You and your stupid fucking song…. I mean, what the fuck is up that?”

“What the fuck is up with what, Jungkook?” You quip back, eyeing his fist cautiously in the case he would do something dangerous that would either injure him, you, or if worse comes to worst, both.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” He continues, and Jungkook can feel the irritation, frustration, and fatigue build within him now that he’s finally gotten a chance to let all these raging emotions out. “You know what you did! Why’d you do it, huh?” His voice grows louder, causing you to flinch as you move your chair back just a bit.

“Why’d you have to ruin my fucking reputation?”

All of a sudden, it’s like something in you snaps.

You can’t believe it. You can’t believe the audacity Jungkook had to say something as outrageous and stupid as what he just said. The emotions that were already burning up within you finally exploded as you stared at him with all the anger and disbelief you could muster.

And here you thought he was drinking because he had finally realized all the wrongs he had done to you. What a fool you were.

“Excuse me?” You say, exasperated. “What did you just fucking say?”

“I said what I said (Y/N),” Jungkook continued, not noticing the way rage was about to take you into its waiting arms, only to allow you to explode upon him with all the pent-up hurt that you’ve accumulated inside you. “You and your fucking song ruined the band any my reputation. Is this how you repay me after everything I’ve done for you?”

You blink. The words slowly make their way towards you as you try to process them, letting out a chuckle at how ridiculous his words were. “Are you being serious right now?” You say, scoffing at how there wasn’t an inch of regret on Jungkook’s face. “You’ve got to be joking, right?”

You want to give him the benefit of the doubt. You want to give him a chance to prove your ears, mind, and heart wrong. That he wasn’t actually thinking those absurd thoughts that had your gut-wrenching and your heartbreaking after already being broken. This couldn’t be the Jungkook that you knew, right? He wouldn’t be this cruel, right?

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“You piece of shit.” You spat without even realizing it, surprising Jungkook. He’s sobered up just a little from your outburst, looking at you like a deer caught in headlights. For a moment, you regret speaking without any thought. But the more you try to rationalize it, the more the anger burns. This was unacceptable.

“Reputation?” You scoff, looking at him incredulously. “You’re fucking worried about your reputation when there are bigger issues to be addressed here?”

“(Y/N) I—”

“Shut up, Jungkook,” you say, cutting him off coldly. “You don’t get a say in this when all you’re worried about is your reputation over a broken relationship with someone you’ve grown up with for the past thirteen years!”

Wide-eyed, Jungkook gapes at you, and you, in your disgruntled state, take this chance to get back at him, unleashing all the feelings you’ve buried deep inside you.

“You dare ask me why I’m treating you this way when you’ve been nothing but nice to me?” You mock, his words hurting more than they should. “Do you even bother to ask yourself as to why I broke up with you in the first place, Jungkook? Why I left? Did you even bother to listen to my song?”

His silence echoes throughout the pub, further shattering any lingering hope that you had about the situation. “No,” he says after a while, firm in his belief as he stared back at you, although his gaze seemed as if it could easily water away. “Didn’t think it was necessary; after all I did nothing wro—”

“—You treated me like shit for the last two years of our relationship, Jungkook. That’s what you did wrong.” You exclaim, not wanting to hear his excuses. “Are you really this blind to not know? To not see your own faults?”

How could he? You think to yourself, the unbearable pain of this revelation thrumming through every fibre of your being. It was painful. Painful to hear that he hadn’t even thought about the situation through your lens. He was too absorbed with what he had going for himself that he failed to see the world through your eyes, and it frustrated you to no end.

Because that breakup broke you like no other.

Choosing to leave wasn’t an easy decision, by no means. You had risked everything to help support Jungkook in hopes that you would find a dream of your own. You joined the band, knowing that you would put your family’s safety and security at risk instead of pursuing a more stable career like starting a business or becoming a doctor.

You became selfish to follow Jungkook, so of course, you were attached.

Jungkook, in a sense, was your world. You suppose, looking back at it now, that wasn’t the healthiest decision you took for yourself. But at that time, you could not help yourself. He was your first friend, your first love, your first everything. Jungkook showed you the ways of the world and then shattered it without a care. Of course, more than any other breakup, it would tear you apart.

Because to be honest, loving Jungkook made you happy. You remember when he first asked you out. Probably one of the best moments of your entire life. It happened after your band’s first major gig to open up the local summer festival. The two of you were still calming down from the high of the performance, excited, thrilled to have finally been given the opportunity in front of a bigger crowd. It felt surreal seeing the fascinated faces and happy smiles as they listen to your music.

Jungkook was right. This feeling was incredible.

“Holy shit. That was amazing,” Jaehyun laughs, hugging Yugyeom before turning to hug you and Jungkook. “I can’t believe we just did that!”

“Do you think they liked us?” Yugyeom, ever the timid one asks. “I felt like I made a mistake somewhere along the second cho—“

“—Who cares, man?” Jungkook says, cutting Yugyeom off with a playful slap to the back. “We just fucking performed our first major gig. This isn’t time to be wallowing down on our mistakes. This is a time to celebrate!”

You and Jaehyun hollered in agreement, following Jungkook as he dragged Yugyeom backstage where the four of you packed up, took a few commemorative pictures, and made your way towards the nearest convenience store to celebrate the night with some good old ramen, ice cream, and whatever your hearts desired.

It was a fun night, one filled with laughter as the four of you joked about whatever your mind could think of. Jungkook boasted about how he was right about their band getting somewhere, of how Jaehyun and Yugyeom, who were much more hesitant in joining the band, and after months of no progress, we’re beginning to regret it, had nothing to worry about.

Jaehyun and Yugyeom even mustered up the courage to do a speed eating challenge, grabbing about her round of hot piping ramen and racing to see who could eat it the fastest, despite the heat burning their tongues both literally and figuratively.

It was a night where for once, the four of you didn’t have to worry about life outside of the band. Didn’t have to worry about the social pressure from school or home, Didn’t have to worry about stupid tests or becoming the best, for once the four of you could just be yourselves. Unapologetic and free.

When Jaehyun and Yugyeom decided to pack it up and head home, saying that if they didn’t arrive before their dreaded curfew, then their parents would literally send them to the pits of hell, you didn’t notice the way Jungkook grew silent. Maybe you did, but you were too preoccupied with the nauseated looks on Jaehyun and Yugyeom’s faces as they headed towards the public restroom to flush out the ramen in their system.

“Hey (Y/N)?” Jungkook asks once Jaehyun and Yugyeom are nowhere to be seen. You hum in response, turning to look back at him, and immediately your eyes become overwhelmed with worry at the serious look on his face as he gazes up at the night sky, seemingly nervous and scared.

“Will you go out with me?”

It’s unexpected, a bomb to your heart if you could call it. You gasp the moment the words flow out of his mouth, staring at Jungkook in shock. Did he really just ask you out?

You think it’s a joke. A cruel trick of nature. But by the way, Jungkook nervously fidgets from where he sits, and his eyes nervously dart around. Like they usually do during nerve-wracking situations like these, you knew in your heart that his words were true.

And you couldn’t be more overjoyed because you had fallen for Jeon Jungkook too.

Throughout your many years of friendship, you had gotten to know Jungkook inside out. You were there when he threw a mini tantrum over missing first place in the final exam by one point, knowing that his parents would be disappointed in him. You were there when the two of you went out to buy his first-ever electric guitar after months of saving up money secretly. You were there for him when he was convincing Jaehyun and Yugyeom to join the band, even when he was about to get into a fight with Jaehyun over the matter.

And like clockwork, you had fallen.

It wasn’t particularly hard to do so. Jungkook had this certain charm to him, after all. He was an enigma. He could draw people into his rhythm like it was nothing and have them follow to the beat of his own drum. Sometimes you wondered if there was a hidden secret with the way he could so easily attract people, but the more you hung out, the more you realized that wasn’t the case at all. He was genuine in everything he did.

“Yes,” you say without hesitation, causing Jungkook to whip his head to face you in the blink of an eye, mouth slacking in shock. He blinks, you smile, and suddenly a smile of his own is forming on his face, reaching all the way into his eyes.

“For real?” He whispers, not wanting this moment to slip away from his grasp. He was so close to having you in his arms, something he’s wanted for the longest time, that he was afraid that if he spoke any louder, he would ruin any chance he got. But your reassuring gaze and gentle hold immediately calm the raging wave of anxiety within him. “For real,” you affirm, and suddenly you’re in Jungkook’s embrace.

It’s a warm embrace, one that has you returning it back with the same vigor, the same excitement bubbling in your chest. This marked the beginning of a new chapter for you and Jungkook, one where the two of you would walk down the unclear path you have chosen, still remaining by each other’s side, but this time, with hands intertwined.

You just wished it didn’t go up into flames like this.

You blink, snapping out of your trance as you gaze at Jungkook. Once more, seeing the way his lips were pursed into a thin line, his brows furrowed as if he had a lot going on through his mind. Which was only fitting. He had to, or else this wave of hurt and pain would only intensify and turn into something you would never be able to control.

Remembering the happy moments was something you had promised yourself not to do, for it only brought you into another world of pain after looking at how the two of you were faring now. But in the midst of agony staring right at you, you couldn’t help but let yourself reminisce in hopes of relieving some of that anger and hurt so you wouldn’t do anything out of hand.

“Tell me, Jungkook,” you finally say after a moment of silence, and you want to curse yourself for the way your voice cracks at the end. You had to be strong. You had to get through this. Because there was no way, you were going to let Jungkook ruin you once more. “How do you think our relationship was going within the last two years?”

Silence befalls the room for what feels like the millionth time, But this one is heavier than the last. Jungkook looks at you with such a severe gaze that you almost falter, forgetting the fact that he’s drunk with the way his eyes bore into yours.

You dread his answer, not knowing what to expect. With the way, he was acting, and with all the things he’s said and done, you knew that his words would only hurt you even more from here on out. You clutch the fanfic of your sweater tightly, hanging on by a thread.

But he says nothing.

The heavy silence lasts longer, and the more it persists, the more disappointment and disbelief creep into the cracked crevices of your already broken heart. Was he really going to act this way? Saying nothing at all? Did your relationship mean nothing to him in the past 2 years?

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, letting out a scoff as your eyes scan his figure. He’s hunched up as if unsure of what to do, what to think, or what to say. There’s probably a flurry of emotions running through his mind, but you don’t pity him. You hope it continues to weigh heavy, as it did to you for the last three years.

“I was miserable, Jungkook,” you whisper, recounting the memories you had buried deep within, afraid to open them up again at the cost of your already fragile happiness. But to be truly happy, one needs to let go of all the agony locked within. “Ever since Eunha came into our lives, you started treating me like a side character, as if I wasn’t your girlfriend.”

“And no,” you say sternly, already knowing what Jungkook was to say by the way his eyes widened and his mouth slacked, an arm up in protest for your words. “I’m not blaming Eunha entirely, contrary to what you may think. Sure, her arrival started it all. Sure, there were times where she acted so out of line that I wanted to slap her in the face n’s remind her who exactly she was talking to. But I couldn’t. Do you know why, Jungkook?”

His eyebrows furrow in confusion, and you take a deep breath as you gather your thoughts. This was the first time you were finally going to let out all of your frustrations that’s been building up inside you for the past few years. It was a nerve-wracking feat, but a necessary one nonetheless, as even in those few moments of speaking, you were starting to feel just a bit more free.

“Because I didn’t even know who I was anymore.”

Jungkook’s never been this confused in his life.

It’s as if you had dropped a bomb on him without warning, causing him to be in a frenzy. What did you mean? How could you blame Eunha? Eunha was a sweet girl who could do no wrong. She was there for him whenever he needed that extra support, whenever he needed someone to ground him in this cruel, unforgiving world.

She was there when you weren’t and was a constant in his life. How could such a sweet girl like her be the catalyst of this catastrophic situation? It had to be a joke.

“You’re lying,” he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. The pain in his heart was coming back again, and just when he thought he had finally gotten rid of that after drowning in alcohol moments ago. This was your fault. You and your stupid song, your stupid lies. You were driving me crazy.

“I’m lying?” You ask, and Jungkook looks up to meet your eyes, feeling another burst of pain shoot through him at the agonizing expression on your face. Why did you look so hurt? He did nothing wrong. He didn’t hurt you. He couldn’t have. He had always been there for you. He was the reason you could do what you could in the first place. There was just no way that misery was because of him.

“Jungkook, did you even realize that with how much time you were spending with Eunha, you weren’t spending time with me anymore? Remember how you used to walk me home at midnight after your time at the studio and my radio show? You stopped doing that ever since she appeared.”

Lies.

“For days, I stood outside the company for hours, waiting for you to bring me home because you promised that you’d never miss it for the world. And on the day that I finally decided to check up on you, worried that you might have been overworking yourself? I see you in the studio, laughing with Eunha.”

Jungkook wanted to scream. He was stressed. He had to make music. Why couldn’t you understand that?

“And when I confronted you about it? You shrugged me off, saying I was overly dramatic.”

You are. Jungkook insists in his head, thoughts spiraling. What’s wrong with him not bringing you home. Even if he was your boyfriend, he was not obligated to, right? You were supposed to understand him, right? That’s what lovers are supposed to do.

“I thought to myself, maybe you were right. Maybe I was overdramatic, so I did what you asked and shrugged me off. Yet, with each passing day, it felt like I was a stranger in your eyes. Do you even realize Jungkook that ever since Eunha came into our lives, we’ve only been on three dates?”

You’re too demanding, his mind screams. Three dates? That was plenty for successful stars of your caliber. You had to understand that being under the limelight meant that he couldn’t reserve all the time in the world for you.

His heart clenches painfully again, and Jungkook feels a sob hitch in his throat.

“It hurt.” You cry, letting out the words that Jungkook wanted to say. “It hurt so much watching the love of my life and my best friend toss me to the side. Where was the you that promised that you’d always be there for me? Where was the you that promised to stay?”

You’re crying now, tears streaming down your face as the words you’ve kept hidden for the longest time finally make their way out of your system. Every part of you was screaming in agony and pain, and you can feel the mended parts of your patched-up heart slowly break again.

“Jungkook, I loved you. I loved you so much that I risked it all for you. I joined the band even though I wasn’t sure of our future because I saw how happy you were. You showed me what happiness could be, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that, but at the same time, you showed me firsthand real pain and heartbreak. And I don’t think I can ever forgive you for doing that.”

No. Why? You had to forgive him. You were his best friend. Stop. Stop speaking. Stop it.

“I left because I wanted to keep what we still had within our memories.” You whisper, remembering the night you finally came to your decision. Remembering all the times you cried and broke down, not knowing what to do or where you should go. All the times where you forced yourself to put on a smile on your face and act as if everything was fine even though it wasn’t.

“And I hoped that in leaving, we could pick up all the broken pieces and create something new with them. Maybe it would not have been a relationship as strong as the one we’ve had before. But at least it was something. And at least I would have still had a connection to you.”

You’re calm now, in a much better headspace than before. But that didn’t mean the ocean of despair that you surrounded yourself in dwindled in the slightest. It was still there, waiting in silence for the moment it could envelop you once more into its treacherous arms and drown you in its suffocating whispers.

“But what the fuck is this?”

You can feel the tides begin to sway, and you will yourself desperately to keep them down. With how the situation was unfolding, you needed to be the bigger person. For your sanity, For Jungkook’s, and for the closure that you both needed, which you weren’t sure would ever peacefully come to an end.

“I never thought that you’d think of us like this Jungkook,” you whisper, and much to your horror, a tear slipped from the crevices of eyes as you hurriedly wiped them, standing up to grab your purse as you stood to leave the pub, not caring one bit if Jungkook got home safely or not, you were too overwhelmed to care.

“I thought you loved me,” You whisper as you turn to look at him one final time, and all of a sudden, Jungkook is hit with wave after wave of sadness, anger, pain, frustration radiating from you. It suffocates him, and the only thought running through his head were questions of him hurting you? Was this really all his fault?

“But I guess you only loved yourself.” A chuckle falls from your lips as you make your first step out of the door. Not paying mind to the old lady who looks at you with a worried gaze, you turn to open the door of the pub, only for someone else to beat you to it.

Lo and Behold, It’s Eunha.

“You,” She gasps as she takes in your disheveled and exhausted state. Although that immediate shock quickly disappears as she catches Jungkook’s equally petrified state from the corner of her eye. She then glares at you, but you honestly can’t find the energy within you to care.

Because this was never about her in the first place, even if in some way she plays a small part.

“What did you do?” Eunha spats as she rushes past you to go to Jungkook, not even bothering to hear you out. You sigh, gathering the last remaining buts of courage within clenched fists, and make your way out of the door, leaving Jungkook, your broken heart, and the memories you two shared behind for good.

Not caring what he would do with those fragments in the end.

“Jungkook!”

Eunha exclaims, immediately hooking her arms around him and hoisting him up into an embrace. “What happened? What did that bitch do?” But Jungkook doesn’t answer, thoroughly overwhelmed by the range of emotions that had just surpassed him from his conversation with you.

Was it truly his fault? Was he the reason why things had turned out this way? There was no way right. He had treated you right, right?

Jungkook tries to convince himself that he’s done nothing wrong, that he was perfectly innocent in this situation. But that nagging feeling deep within his mind and soul screams at him to finally realize the truth. He’s scared. He doesn’t want to know what lies beyond the bubble of happiness he had placed himself in. He doesn’t want to feel the agonizing pain he’s put himself through without realizing it.

But not doing so would kill him more than knowing the truth ever will.

So he opens the door to the truth and wallows in the misery of what he’s done.

To be fair, there was some truth to Jungkook’s words. He had treated you like you were the most precious thing in the universe. And that was because, for the longest time, Jungkook did consider you highly special to him. You were his first friend, the first person he could confide his feelings in, the first person who showed him what love could be like.

You grew up together, cried together, had your first drink together, stood on stage for the first time together. You had done just about everything together, and Jungkook cherished you more than anything in the world.

In everything he did, he always tried to make you a part of it. Whether that meant buying your favorite drink or sending you pictures of whatever he was doing, Jungkook always wanted to help you see the world through his eyes because you deserved that much.

Ice cream dates, sneaking out at night to have some chicken and beer, random dates at the local arcade, a stroll at the beach. You and Jungkook had practically done it all. So, where did it all fall apart? Where did Jungkook go wrong?

“Jungkook?” Eunha calls out, and Jungkook finally musters up the courage to look at Eunha, who was worriedly trying to get him to answer her. Her hold is familiar, something he’s been used to in the past two years, yet at the same time, something was missing within her warmth. An unexplainable feeling he couldn’t quite describe.

And then he realized it wasn’t you.

Just when did he go astray? When did he start treating you like you weren’t the world to him? For sure, it wasn’t a singular moment. It was most definitely a culmination of many events that led up to his demise. But just how did it happen?

He looks at Eunha’s worried eyes, those same eyes that he thought meant the world to him within those two years of your break up. Yet, for some reason, he just couldn’t look at them in the same way anymore. Not when there was this hollow emptiness in his heart that called out for you and only you,

It was like a game of tug and war in his heart. He still loved Eunha; that much was for sure. But he couldn’t deny the love that he had for you as well. He remembered how Eunha was like a breath of fresh air for him. In the midst of all your nagging for him to take care of himself when he was working his ass off making new songs and dealing with management, Eunha was there to simply smile and encourage Jungkook.

Like a fool, he got lured into Eunha’s charm and held onto it, not noticing that he was letting go of you in the process.

His heart wails. It cries in pain and desperation of the love it has lost. Why did it have to be this way? Why was Jungkook such a fool? So consumed by his own selfishness, he abandoned the love you two shared and sought another, and now he was reaping what he had sown.

You were gone. You would never come back. Whatever love you had between the two of you had left and died out. The world was cruel. It had given Jungkook so much hope yet took it away from him the moment he slipped up. Yet, he couldn’t really blame them. He couldn’t really blame you.

Because he knew you had tried, he could see it in the way your eyes still cried out in pain when you see him. He could hear it in the agony of your voice as you sang passionately in your songs. He knew you did your best to pick up the fallen pieces and try to mend them back together. But all Jungkook did was rip them apart all over again.

Life couldn’t have been any better for Jeon Jungkook until suddenly it was not.

And he was the only one to blame.

➢ taglist: @wearenot7withu @nadiaislas @bbydoejk

#bts x reader #bangtan x reader #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jeongguk x reader #jeon jeongguk x reader #bts jungkook x reader #bts fanfiction

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years ago

Text

tuxedo, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, mentions of previous jungkook x reader

summary: Your cat turns into a man. No, not, your cat was always a man and turned back into a man. Your actual cat turns into an actual man and neither you or your cat (man? cat-man?) have any idea why he's human now. Also, he's naked, so that’s a problem. Also, he’s kind of attractive. Yikes.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, mentions of the coronavirus pandemic; possibly full-on crack; Yoongi still thinks he’s a cat; mentions of smut (fem reader, m-receiving oral (choking on a dick, but not in a sexy way), doggy, spanking, wall-fucking, unintentional??? voyeurism); non-idol!AU - cat!Yoongi x human!reader; ft slightly cocky Jeon Jungkook and you being mad horny for him, what’s new; breaking of the fourth wall; are YOU a furry? you decide

an anon asked for cat hybrid Yoongi, although instead this is some voodoo witch doctor shit, whoops yes, I do reference BT21, Bob Ross, the lady-pointing-to-the-cat-accusingly meme, list goes on... and there is a cameo of 2021 Seasons Greetings Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin XD

Your lungs were being crushed.

You were bundled in your duvet, wrapped like a mint-colored burrito, on your back, head nestled comfortably in your memory foam pillow. Warm, cozy, snuggly. All things considered, a comfortable position. So comfortable that you were blessedly asleep for many hours until your lungs started getting crushed.

You cracked one eye open.

A giant tuxedo fluffball was causing this slow and painful death.

“Get off.”

You glared with slitted eyes, voice cracking from sleep. The fluffball did not move. Velvety, pointed black ears flicked back and forth. The little pink nostrils flared a bit, breathing evenly and contentedly. At least one of you was. You grunted in irritation. The minty-green eyes opened, black slits for pupils.

“I’m going to die.”

Your cat meowed in your face.

“Shut the fuck up. Get off.”

He yawned.

You narrowed your eyes and lips into lines. Stared at your insufferable, not-so-subtle tuxedo cat that was killing his owner. How long had he and his seven-kilogram ass been sitting on your tits? Too long because your sternum was already aching. You rolled over and he gave you a disgruntled meow as he tumbled off. You pulled your arms out and gave him a soft scratch behind his ears before reaching around to his white belly and patting his chest. He started purring, rolling to his side, white sock-like paws sticking up.

“Ugh, my chest hurts, Shooks. You’re a dick.”

Your cat gave zero fucks.

You were still petting him. Sigh.

“I’m getting up,” you announced to no one except your cat.

You tugged yourself out of your comfy, mint-colored duvet and winced, rubbing your breastbone. Did you buy this bedding set because it reminded you of your cat’s eye color? Yes. Were you a crazy cat lady? Maybe. In your defense, you hadn’t meant to become a crazy cat lady. You were innocently walking on the street when the tuxedo-patterned cat started following you. A large cat with big minty eyes surrounded by black fur like black bangs. White snout and jaw, pink nose, and a raspy meow. The tuxedo pattern was pretty similar to an actual suit, with a white chest and black fur over its back and limbs. White, sock-like paws, on the bigger side. Cute pink toe beans too. At the time, he was skinny and dirty, no collar around his neck, but you could tell he was long-limbed. He had a cut on his right eye, caked with blood.

“You alright, little guy?”

The cat seemed to scoff at you disapprovingly, as if to say, do I seem like a little guy to you?

“I guess you’re not a little guy. You have an owner?”

The cat’s response was headbutting your calf.

You took him back to your apartment and then it was doomed.

Why was his name Shooks? Well, actually, your cat’s name was Shooky, and it was because you tried many names to get him to respond to you – including, but not limited to, “you little shit” – and he responded to none of them except Shooky. For some reason, Shooky made him turn his black-and-white face around and look at you.

Shooky it was.

The first encounter was cute, but after you had fed him and given him a few pats, you gave him a good, hard taste of reality. Shooky was very upset about getting a bath for the first time. There had been a lot of angry meowing, although thankfully he hadn’t swiped at you very much. As soon as you got mostly undressed and sat in the bath with him, he seemed to relent. Maybe it was because you closed the glass door and he couldn’t leave.

“Do you see how dirty you are? You need a bath.”

He gave you a disapproving meow.

“Look, I even bought pet shampoo and you’ll get treats after. Come on, you.”

He was very displeased.

In any case, Shooky was now your primary companion, a large, long-limbed, fluffy tuxedo cat, following you around as you brushed your teeth and made breakfast, his new black collar jingling with a tiny silver bell. Every morning, you handed him his dry food first – he chomped down immediately – and made yourself some breakfast as he ate. Somehow your life now revolved around him, spending time looking up the best cat food (without paying an arm and a leg, you weren’t a sugar momma), making sure he was brushed (his hair got everywhere), telling everyone you needed to get home because you couldn’t miss his dinnertime (if you were a second late opening the door, Shooky would start meowing very exaggeratedly, like he was dying, what a drama queen). Was he annoying? Yes. Was he the best cuddle buddy? Also, yes. Kind of like a boyfriend, but better, because Shooky didn’t talk back.

You arranged your small dishes on the table. Tofu. Eggs. Pickled squash. Just enough for one. You sat down, holding your bowl of steamed rice.

A tuxedo furball jumped onto the table, licking his chops.

“Look here, this isn’t for you. Shoo.”

He settled onto the tabletop and stared at you as you ate.

Sigh.

Live with a cat was pretty similar to life without one.

Except for that weird habit Shooky had of sitting on your bathroom rug when you got out of the shower, scaring the shit out of you the first time. You lived alone, so you didn’t really bother closing doors, but you considered changing that. But it was just a cat. Also, he walked in here of his own volition. Not your fault if his eyes were scarred.

Shooky was a normal cat, but also a weird cat.

He slept a lot. Normal. He bit his paws sometimes. Weird. You figured maybe it was his nails, so you learned to trim them and he seemed better about it, but sometimes when he was stressed, you would notice fur missing from his little white socks. A lot of things could stress a cat. The internet taught you that. You brought him toys and played with him, but mostly he seemed to want you to sit down so he could plant himself in your lap. This make life rather difficult, so you decided it was time to invest in Netflix so you could at least use your time wisely.

This was for your cat, remember.

Yes, binging shows on Netflix was for your cat.

The weirdest thing was…

Shooky was always stressed when you invited a man into your home.

Maybe he didn’t like men. Something in his past, maybe? Could be. Come to think of it, did you even like men? That was a question for another day, but in any case, your cat always gave you this accusing stare when you brought a guy over, no matter how nice the guy was, even if the guy petted him very gently. Shooky never attacked them. He just glared at you like you had betrayed him somehow. How could that be?

What a needy drama queen.

You figured, eh, it didn’t really matter. He wasn’t trying to sabotage your chances of finding true love and all that stuff.

Who are we kidding?

You’d settle for a simple good dicking.

Well, there was that one time.

That time you were in the middle of giving a guy a blowjob. It was going great. You were naked, he was naked, he had a tattooed arm – hot as fuck – and he was very vocally enjoying your tongue technology. Hey, you didn’t have many talents, but you had that going for you. Even if a guy was mildly apprehensive about banging you, once you got your mouth on his dick, it was game over. You mentally patted yourself on the back for doing such a good job.

Positive reinforcement, right?

Annnnnnnd then…

Your cat jumped onto your back and made you choke on his dick.

“Urk!”

“Oh, fu–”

All seven kilos right between your shoulder blades. Oof.

“Are you okay?” He was half-worried, half-laughing, and Shooky was climbing up your back, pressing onto your neck, one paw on the nape, trying to murder you by dick suffocation. It took both of you to lift you off the dick – sad – and Shooky left a few scratches on your neck, as if to communicate his distaste of your infidelity. The guy was really nice about it. Actually, he found it hilarious. You scowled at Shooky and he gave you that deadpan stare that all cats seemed to have. The rest of the night was hot and heavy like you wanted and you even eventually got to complete said blowjob, which brightened your spirits.

It was a little disorienting that your cat was watching you from his cat tree the entire time.

Creep.

Honestly, you would have kept dating that guy if he didn’t move to a different city. Sigh.

Eventually, you stopped bringing men over.

One, because Shooky. Two, because worldwide pandemic.

Sigh.

The night that changed everything was ordinary.

Too ordinary.

You were passed out on the couch, halfway into season six of American Horror Story, somewhat peeved because you wanted to watch the other seasons, but geez, season five had such a poor story and hard focus on gore that it slightly turned you off. That it was a lot, even for you. Season six was better, but slow. The first four seasons had really hooked you and the idea of them all being connected? Nutty. You wanted to watch all of it.

Idea of season five? Awesome.

Lady Gaga? Yeah, why not, you’d be seduced.

Execution? Eh… could be better.

Shooky hadn’t watched any of it. He just slept in your lap.

Subtitles really helped you out here. You didn’t understand how the English-speaking audience could hear the whispering parts, but maybe that was because your English was garbage. You could read better than listen.

At the moment, you weren’t reading shit.

You were half-tucked in a fuzzy black blanket with a tuxedo cat pattern. Did you see the tuxedo cat pattern and buy it immediately? Yes. Were you a crazy cat lady? Maybe. In any case, your head was cocked at an awkward angle on the couch cushion and your mouth was open, snoring away. Attractive. You were wearing mint-colored, striped pajamas, one arm hanging off the couch and the other on Shooky’s furry butt, because you had been petting him.

Netflix was doing that annoying thing where it was asking you if you were still watching or not.

You couldn’t respond.

Shooky was awake.

Your cat was staring at your laptop on your coffee table. It was open. An HDMI cable connected it to your television. Not a clean setup, but an effective one. Again, you lived alone. Who was going to judge you? Your tuxedo cat?

Pfft.

Your cat was awake.

He got off your lap and hopped to the coffee table, peering at your laptop. Then he did what any sensible cat would do.

He walked all over your keyboard.

Circling around and around, smashing all the buttons with his cute pink toe beans, looking for a comfortable spot before settling down and planting his fluffy body on top of it. Windows closed, tabs appeared, the volume got muted, your display settings got fucked, the usual.

The unusual part was that your cat was looking at the screen.

Your internet browser was open.

A video was playing on a mysterious website.

A handsome young man with a boxy smile was wearing a sienna floral dress shirt and sunglasses, oddly paired with flared violet pants. He was standing next to another young man with an angelic face who, for some reason, was wearing a pastel floral handkerchief around on his head and a white-and-navy tracksuit with black, red, and green stripes. They were standing in some weird set with a black tablecloth covered round table and a lavender crystal ball, crystal-like beaded curtains glinting in strangely colorful lighting.

There was no volume.

Your cat tilted his head at the screen, curious.

The man with the boxy smile was speaking excitedly, gesturing to the angelic-looking man who seemed to be in awe. A retro, old school graphic popped up, flowers surrounding a blocky orange and green serif font, mildly tacky but somehow endearing in its own way.

COULD WISHES REALLY BE GRANTED?

Your cat tilted his head the other way.

Your cat didn’t know Korean.

… Right?

Well, you did mostly speak to him in Korean. Maybe he was secretly fluent. He definitely knew, don’t fucking do that, because you would witness him doing the very thing you told him not to do right after you said it. Bastard. But you couldn’t bear witness to this now. You were knocked out on the couch.

Zzz.

Boxy-smile guy placed his fingers elegantly on his forehead, mock dismay on his features, acting as if he couldn’t believe the viewer’s skepticism. Angel-looking guy placed his hands in prayer position, the text now reading, I won’t believe you unless you prove it! Boxy-smile guy flourished to the camera, showing off his brilliant pearly-white smile, mouthing words unheard. Text appeared once more.

Make a wish, any wish!

Your cat closed his eyes and appeared to be asleep.

The video turned black and disappeared into purple sparkles.

Your internet browser unexpectedly closed.

You woke up with a painful stitch in your neck and Shooky nowhere to be found.

“Fuck…”

You tried to get up, but underestimated the cramp in your back and fell onto the hardwood floor.

“Fuck!”

You blamed the pandemic for fucking up your sleep schedule. Also, getting old. Fuck getting old and being an adult. Time didn’t stop just because you didn’t go to work. Well, not true. You did go to work; your work was just different now. You were YouTube video editor, which meant you were mostly edited video game montages now instead of travel vlogs. The work was slower now. People were getting discouraged, taking breaks, because, you know.

Pandemic.

Sigh.

Anyway, not the point. You were grateful that your work was mostly internet and computer-based. Not everyone was so lucky. You were also grateful that you didn’t work in an industry that was too negatively affected by the pandemic. It had started off as a hobby, but then the creators you were helping unexpectedly blew up, needing your help more and more. You fell into it by accident, but that’s how life was. Happy little accidents. You couldn’t complain. As long as you had some income to feed your cat and you, that was enough.

Speaking of cat.

“Shooky?”

No meow.

Huh.

He normally would meow or trot over to you when called. He was weirdly affectionate like that.

You were still on the floor, on hands and knees, crick in your neck and back aching. Ah yes, age was just a number until your back pain flared up due to repeated nights of unintentionally falling asleep on the couch. Lovely. You stretched out your back with a groan and yawned, cracking your neck.

“FUCK!”

That hurt. Ugh, you really needed to stop sleeping on the sofa. You untangled yourself from your blanket and headed to the bathroom, rubbing your neck. You still didn’t see your fluffy, seven-kilogram, kind-of-an-ass tuxedo cat, but whatever. He had to be in the apartment. He couldn’t exactly leave. He was a cat. What was he going to do, grow legs and opposable thumbs?

Pfft.

You shoved your toothpaste-covered toothbrush in your mouth and began brushing your teeth. You hummed, trying to remember if you had any deadlines. Eh, they were on your Google calendar. You would check it after washing up. You spat and brushed for a few more minutes, thinking about nothing. This was nice. Sometimes it was nice to think about nothing. No major problems to address, simply a chill and routine morning.

Seemed sufficient.

You reached over to the spit cup and put some lukewarm water in it before taking your toothbrush out and sipping some water to gargle the minty suds out.

You heard a deep, raspy voice call your name.

“Hmm?”

You looked in the mirror.

Wait.

Your mouth was full of dirty toothpaste water, cheeks puffed out.

The voice called your name again, quietly.

Nervously.

Your eyes widened, staring into the mirror in shock.

A pale man was standing behind you, wearing your mint-colored duvet over his shoulders. Messy black hair to his rounded cheeks, dark brown cat-like eyes, small pink pout. His nose was a little red, as if he was cold. There was a black choker on his neck, with a silver bell. He was taller than you, and he looked very confused.

Also.

Pointed, velvety black ears on top of his head, white tufts of fur sticking out, flicking back and forth.

You spat all over your mirror in shock.

“Urk–!”

The man jerked back as you threw your head into the sink, hastily taking another cupful of water to rinse out your mouth because, WHAT THE FUCK WAS GOING ON? Why was there a man in your apartment? With fucking cat ears? That moved? What kind of kinky shit was that? Were you dreaming? What the fuck?! You grabbed the hand towel from its hook and furiously wiped the dirty water off your mirror, completely convinced you were having sensory and auditory hallucinations. Did you drink last night? Accidentally buy groceries laced with LSD? Snorted three kilos of cocaine off a hooker? Who the fuck knows, but there was no fucking way that you let some fucking man in your home, because, one, pandemic and, two, Shooky–

You froze.

The pale man with black hair was still there, standing in the doorway of your bathroom, looking slightly disgusted, but also scared.

He said your name again. A question, almost like a raspy meow.

It was…

Familiar?

You violently wiped your bathroom mirror some more, nearly cracking the glass.

The man was still there, wearing your mint-colored duvet.

Slowly, slowly, you turned around to face this man, your neck cracking loudly, sending searing pain up the back of your head and reminding you that, nope, this is not a dream, and if it was, it was a very shitty dream because at least in a dream you shouldn’t actually feel pain. You looked up at this man, at his fluffy black bangs shading his dark attentive eyes and pale face, chewing on his lip, clutching your duvet around his body like a giant mint cloak.

The cat ears on his head twitched.

“Uh…”

You blinked at him, watching the ears.

“Do… I know you?”

He gave you an eerily recognizable deadpan stare. “I think you do.”

No way.

What?

No.

This wasn’t possible.

You’re drunk, high, or in purgatory.

(You did have sex before marriage.)

“S… Shooky?” you croaked.

The man took a deep breath and shook his head.

“Actually, my name is Min Yoongi.”

You blinked at him. “What? You have a name?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

Relief washed over you. “What do you mean, you guess? That means you’re a human being! With a birth certificate! Thank God, I thought you were my fucking cat for some reason, haha, that’s so fucking ridiculous–!” For some reason, the idea of a random stranger being in your home was much more comfortable to you than you damn cat becoming a human being, because for a hot second, you thought… but no, no, that’s stupid. “Speaking of ridiculous, these ears are crazy dude, they look almost real–”

You reached up and yanked on one of the velvety ears.

“Ow, what the fuck!”

Oh.

Oh my God.

OhmyfuckingGodthey’reattachedtohishead.

“What the FUCK?” you bellowed and a large pale hand shot out of the duvet to clamp one of his cat ears down, shrinking away from you.

“Stop yelling, please, I have sensitive hearing,” Yoongi winced, ticking his head, as if he was trying to flatten the other ear too, but couldn’t. His other hand was holding tightly to the mint duvet.

You saw a glimpse of a pale chest.

Your eyes widened into the size of saucepans.

His hand darted back into the duvet and clamped it shut from your bulging eyes, frowning. He quickly bundled himself up and straightened, thinning his mouth into a line. A few seconds passed. You gawked at him, jaw slack. The pale man sighed heavily.

“My name is Min Yoongi. My parents gave me that name. I don’t think I have a human birth certificate because I’m not a human. I am a cat. You used to call me Shooky, but Min Yoongi is my name, so I would appreciate it if you called me by my given name.”

Your jaw went even more slack.

“Cats… have names?” you squeaked.

Yoongi made a face at you. “Of course, we do. We are not savages.”

“B… But…” You frowned, shoulders falling. “You seemed to like the name Shooky…”

Yoongi shrugged his duvet-covered shoulders. “It sounded better than all the other names you suggested.”

You puffed your cheeks, placing your hands on your hips. “What was wrong with Tata? Or Chimmy? Or Cooky?”

Yoongi gave you a disapproving glare. “Well, perhaps in a parallel universe the name Shooky is somehow important to me. In any case, it was the best suggestion.”

You narrowed your eyes, frowning. “You little shit.”

“I especially disliked that one. Seemed a bit discriminating to our size difference…” He paused, looking down at you. “At the time anyway.”

Your hands fell, looking up at your cat. Er. Min Yoongi. “So, uh… Yoongi…?”

He tilted his head, peering curiously at you under his black bangs. “Hm?”

You pointed at him, gesturing up and down. “Why are you, uh… a man?”

He looked down at the duvet covering his body. You stared at your bedding wrapped around him. Why was he wearing it anyway? In fact, all you could see was a black choker with a silver bell. The mental lightning bolt suddenly hit you. Oh. Your neck began to heat. Your ears began to heat. Your whole face began to heat. Oh. Oh? Oh! Shooky – er, Yoongi? – whatever, your cat didn’t wear clothes. He only wore a collar… which meant…

It felt like your whole body was on fire with abrupt realization.

Yoongi looked up at your mint-pajama-wrapped, now tomato self still pointing at him.

“I don’t know why I’m a man.”

One of his eyebrows raised. Then Yoongi smirked.

An open-mouthed, amused smirk.

“And yes, I’m naked. Your clothes don’t fit me. I tried.”

Your cat, er, man? Cat-man? What even... never mind, Min Yoongi was sitting on your bed, still wrapped in your mint duvet like a key lime cake roll, waiting as you rummaged around in your dresser, searching for literally any piece of clothing that might possibly fit him. The problem was, you worked from home, so you didn't exactly own a plethora of different clothing options. Your daily wardrobe consisted of slinky black leggings...

"They're stretchy?" you suggested timidly.

Yoongi had blinked at you. "I don't think so."

"It could work?"

He pursed his lips together. "I think you're forgetting something."

You gave him a blank look. "Huh?"

Yoongi gave you his deadpan stare. "I believe you are well acquainted with human male genitalia."

Oh.

Right.

He had a dick.

You turned red and robotically shoved your leggings back into their place. A sudden thought flitted across your brain and you spun back to face him, blurting it out before filtering yourself.

"Hahaha, good thing I never got you fixed, eh?"

Yoongi blinked very, very slowly. It was hard to tell if he was annoyed, amused, or wanted to murder you. In conclusion, typical cat behavior.

"I'm not fond of the idea of castration, so I suppose so."

Awkward.

Your vet had suggested it, but since he had been an indoor cat and you weren't intending on getting another, you figured you wouldn't put him under the unnecessary surgery and it would help you avoid the cost. A little irresponsible? Maybe. But you were very careful not to leave the front door open and, so far, he hasn't had the chance to get some poor lady cat knocked up.

Unfortunately…

He knew you considered permanently removing his nuts. Yikes.

Sorry, Shooks. Er, Yoongi.

In any case!

The other half of your daily wardrobe was sweatshirts, but Yoongi's shoulders were too broad for them and he was too tall. Why was he so big anyway? Well, he wasn’t exactly big, just long-limbed. You guessed he was actually on the leaner side, judging from the way the duvet wrapped around him and the brief flash of long fingers, slim forearm, and toned chest. He had been a larger cat.

Seven kilos turned into... him?

You suddenly started and yanked open your underwear drawer, shuffling through it to get to the back and pull out a neatly folded dark gray blob.

"I have this–"

"No."

The response was so forceful and dismissive that you froze, the dark gray fabric unfurling in your loose grip. It was a large men's sweatshirt, soft, charcoal, slightly acid-wash, covered with white paint stains. Eggshell white, to be exact. The exact paint color of this very bedroom, because you had worn it to repaint over that original disgusting beige color.

"Why not?" you inquired, holding it up by the shoulders. "It'll fit you, for sure. It used to be..."

Yoongi kept his completely neutral expression trained on you as you reached your revelation, his dark eyes observing every detail of your body's reaction to the memory. Your grip on the sweatshirt tightened. You felt your cheeks and ears heat, pulse roaring in your ears.

Oh.

Er, right, so…

That one time that Shooky – no, Yoongi? – jumped on your back and made you choke on a dick? Yeah, that guy. Tattoo guy. Yeah, well, before that incident, tattoo guy was the friend of a friend who offered to help you paint your apartment because he had experience working construction – “helped my dad fix-up a house to resell for a couple months,” he had said with his disgustingly cute, cheeky grin, making you nod like an idiot and your pussy throb with his endearing adorableness – and you had moved all the furniture out so you two could get it done quickly.

You had to put your cat in the bathroom.

You didn’t want him to breathe in the fumes or get paint on his luscious fur. It was for his own good.

Tattoo guy had appeared in said charcoal sweatshirt, black ripped jeans, and the most attractive thighs in the whole damn universe, just out and about, giant holes exposing tan skin and taut muscle. Your eyes widened, frozen at your front door.

Oh yeah, he had paint rollers too. You hadn’t given a shit about those in that moment.

He had noticed you staring and laughed sheepishly. “Sorry, I just wore the ugliest pants I own. It might get messy, you know?”

No, tattoo guy. No one thought your pants were ugly.

You sure as hell didn’t.

“Oh, yeah, that’s why I wore this gross t-shirt,” you said absentmindedly, referring to your four-sizes-too-large, free t-shirt that had been chucked at your head while walking past your university common area. It was a hideous chanteuse with magenta writing, a color combination that absolutely deserved to go to hell, and could not even be saved by the quirky, stylish, thrift-savvy TIkTokers of today. It was the ugliest thing you owned, so you wore it to repaint your bedroom.

Now you regretted it.

Tattoo guy looked you up and down. He smirked under his long black hair.

“Your body still looks great though.”

“… Urk?”

Didn’t really matter that you couldn’t conjure a sexy response, because, clearly, tattoo guy had made his decision leagues before arriving here. Painting a bedroom? Oh, yeah, you did that, and with way too much sexual tension. A man should not be that flirty while holding two paint rollers and speed painting your walls. What were you supposed to do? You barely knew the guy. All you managed to do was make awkward small talk to get to know him better. Then he took off his sweatshirt.

“Wait, that’s illegal.”

He had smirked at you, spinning the paint roller in his hand, white t-shirt molded to his body. “Hm?”

You were being mildly disrespected, but also you were gawking at his tattooed right arm and his blindingly beautiful forearms. Cough, no. You didn’t have a thing for attractive forearms. Wasn’t like staring at this muscular pair was making you weak at the knees or anything. Okay, maybe. But you weren’t going to say it out loud. Tattoo guy ticked his chin below you, to the floor. Your job was to paint the little nooks at the corners, ceiling, and baseboards. You spent a whole lot of your job sneaking glances at him and getting caught.

Shit.

“You missed a spot.”

You whipped your head to the floor, craning your head to look for it. A paint roller appeared beside you, pointing to a small sliver for nasty beige. He had a clear, silvery voice.

“Right here.”

You frowned at it and raised your paintbrush in warning to the offensive beige, ready to strike.

“… Noona.”

You started and fell over.

You sputtered, legs tangled, oversized shirt flipping up, trying not to drop the paintbrush and drawing a fat streak across the unpainted wall. You shook your head roughly, clutching the handle of the brush, cool draft floating up your shirt.

Tattoo guy appeared above you, grinning, his front teeth slightly too large and giving him the appearance of a rambunctious bunny.

“You alright?”

You felt your neck and ears heat. No, you were not alright. Yes, you were older, but that didn’t… that wasn’t the time… You didn’t expect it, that’s all. You tried very hard not to look at his thighs. Or his face. Or his chest. Just didn’t look at him. Also, you were pretty sure you were flashing him and pretty fucking sure you didn’t give a shit.

You coughed awkwardly. “Yup, I’m good.”

Back to copious sexual tension complemented by paint fumes.

Once the first coat was down, you two stood in the center of the room, surrounded by the plastic drop cloth, him banishing a paint roller and you a paintbrush. Challenge complete and it didn’t take you very long. Nice.

“We have to let it dry and then we can paint another coat,” he was explaining.

“It looks fine like this.”

Tattoo guy clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Once it dries, it will look uneven. Trust me.”

You frowned. “Okay. How long should we wait?”

“Couple hours, at least.”

A couple hours? You frowned more. “What are we supposed to do until then?”

He didn’t reply. You turned your head to face him and tattoo guy was staring at you with a smile.

Uh oh.

He was spinning the paint roller with one hand. You felt your ears and neck heat. He switched from his left hand to his right, seamlessly. Incredibly sexy. Were the paint fumes getting to you? You gulped, awkwardly gesturing to the paintbrush.

“Let me just… put this down…”

You turned around and balanced your paintbrush in the paint tray, only to gasp as your felt something foamy roll down your back, covering you with the strong stench of paint. It stopped above the curve of your ass, unable to roll smoothly any longer.

“Hmm, can’t get past your juicy ass, noona,” he teased.

You spun around, cheeks flushed, sputtering.

No, no. You didn’t forget tattoo guy’s name. You remembered it, even now. Remembered saying it in multiple different ways, even.

“Jeon J-Jungkook!”

In surprise, streaks of paint in your hair, him smirking, dropping the paint roller on the other plastic tray and somehow not tipping it over, thank goodness, him walking up to you, taking the bottom of your paint-covered chanteuse university t-shirt, leaning down to whisper hotly against your lips.

“Ah, sorry, it seemed like you didn’t like that shirt very much,” he breathed, sending your brain into overdrive with the heat against your skin, his knuckles brushing your thighs. “You can wear my sweatshirt instead, if you like.”

Your eyes widened, staring at him in shock.

“J… Jungkook…”

In breathlessness, heart pounding in your chest, gaze locked with mischievous dark chocolate orbs, his teeth catching his lower lip, tiny mole underneath revealed.

“Yeah?”

Why was his voice so deep? The tiny tip of his pink tongue darted out, licking his lips enticingly.

“… Noona?”

This man was illegal.

Your hands darted down and gripped his, catching your lower lip in your teeth as well, matching his lip bite, seeing the eagerness growing in his eyes.

Someone should call the police. Or an ambulance.

You grinned, cocking an eyebrow. “I don’t want to wear anything around you.”

But not for you.

There was a very loud meow from your bathroom, but before Jungkook could ask, you yanked your shirt up and over your head. He gasped and instantly it was lips on lips, messy kisses and stumbling to the living room were your bed, dresser, nightstands, bookcase, knickknacks, everything scattered everywhere, but Jungkook and you were too busy yanking off clothes and getting frisky to give a shit.

Yikes.

You stared at Yoongi now, red from head to toe, clutching the dark gray sweatshirt. He rolled his eyes and looked away from you.

“I… washed it?” you offered weakly.

Yoongi’s dark brows raised from under his black bangs. “Mmm, you forget that I have quite keen hearing. I’m not deaf like you, human.”

The color drained from your face.

Well.

Maybe, just maybe, Jungkook got you to wear his dark gray sweatshirt, forcing you – respectfully, he called you noona, after all – to get on your hands and knees for him, then make you wait in said embarrassing position with his sweatshirt bunched around your neck – because, er, gravity – while he casually made you watch him roll the condom on, highly amused by your impatient glare, only to move away and slowly shove his dick inside your soaking wet pussy and spank your ass until you backed up into him enough times to make yourself cum on his stiff length without him moving his hips.

Respectfully, of course.

“Fuck, noona, that was so fucking hot…”

“Jungkook,” you gasped breathlessly, ass stinging in glorious pain. “F-Fuck me, please.”

He made you scream.

He fucked your hard, making the bed creak, pounding you so roughly into the mattress that your fingers curled into the mint sheets, and when you gasped that you were close, he fucking stopped, the damn sadist, causing you to slam your fists into the bed and buck back into his crotch, Jungkook chuckling at your desperation. In your haze of begging for Jungkook’s cock, you heard a judgmental meow from your bathroom, but before you could address it, Jungkook seemed to have accepted your pleading and began to thrust into you once more, making you lose your train of thought and all thoughts in general, except your dire need to orgasm.

Jungkook had made you moan for hours.

Right now, however, Yoongi’s sharp look was making you mute. You were so mortified that you swore your soul stood up and walked out of your body, too ashamed to be in Yoongi’s presence any longer.

“Mmm,” the dark-haired man mused absentmindedly, pointed ears flicking.

From spitting onto the mirror to mentioning his possible castration to remembering that you had locked Yoongi in the bathroom for hours to have mind-blowing sex with Jeon Jungkook under the guise of repainting your bedroom walls…

Too bad life doesn’t have an undo button.

You suddenly remembered Jungkook pushing you up against the bathroom door, your leg hooked around his waist, his cock plunging in and out of you, lips on your neck, and your wrists pinned to the door, rattling it as he fucked you, whispering against your skin.

“You sound so fucking sexy, make more sounds for me, I’ll fuck you as much as you want, fuck you until you can’t think, can’t move, just to hear you say my name over and over…”

“Jungkook… f-fuck, you f-feel so fucking good, o-oh, Jungkook…!”

He pulled his lips away from your neck and smirked in your face.

“Yeah… noona?”

Respectfully.

“Fuck!”

Your back arced against the bathroom door as you came, pussy throbbing and spasming, the top of your head touching the wood, gasping Jungkook’s name in ecstasy, slamming your wrists against the door, Jungkook moaning as he came inside you, cock jerking inside the condom and swelling it with his orgasm, lips crashing down on yours and you whining pathetically into his mouth as he sucked on your tongue roughly.

A quiet, disapproving meow below you.

A master yikes.

You deliberately shoved the dark gray blob back into your underwear drawer.

Yoongi pursed his lips.

“Why is it in your underwear drawer, anyway?”

You slowly closed it, the wood snapping as the drawer touched the dresser.

Silence.

A crow cawed in the distance.

“You know what, let me make a trip to the convenience store…” was your hollow reply as you mechanically walked out of your bedroom, followed by a mint duvet.

“Do you know what size I would be?” came the husky, amused chuckle behind you as you pawed around your apartment for your wallet, two masks, hand sanitizer.

“I’ll just… buy a variety…”

“Or you could measure.”

You heard a rustle and you whipped your head around, only to see Yoongi’s cocked eyebrow and a slight bit of his exposed shoulders, collarbones on display, silver bell jingling. He yanked it back up, frowning at you.

“Are you a pervert?”

“N… no!”

You jerked away and hastily hooked the masks on your ears, fumbling with your sneakers before declaring, “I will be right back!” And then you threw yourself out the door.

Yoongi sighed, finally releasing his hold on the duvet.

“Ugh, so stuffy…”

His long black tail whipped about.

The door suddenly jerked back open and you plucked your keys from the side dish.

Only to see Yoongi fully naked, sleek black tail whisking around, blinking at you.

He was naked.

Really naked.

Very, one hundred percent, naked.

The mint duvet was pooled around his legs on the ground and Min Yoongi, who was formerly your cat Shooky, was a fair-skinned, long-limbed, lean-bodied, very attractive tall man, with velvety black cat ears and tail and – urk! – completely intact human male genitalia. Your neck, ears, cheeks, chest, ancestors from generations long ago, all turned red in embarrassment. Once again, you soul completely left your body in pure mortification.

“D… Don’t leave!” you blurted, snapping the door closed.

Yoongi just stood there, sighing as he heard the door lock and a body bolt down the apartment building stairs.

“You didn’t even change out of your pajamas…” he muttered, picking up the duvet.

"I can't wear these."

It was a few hours later. Thankfully, when you arrived home with your purchases, your cat... man was asleep, wrapped like a mint cake roll in your duvet. You tried not to think about his naked body on your bed, therefore ending up thinking about his naked body on your bed.

"You need to wear pants! For..."

Dark eyebrows raised.

"Decency!"

After getting home, you had spent the next thirty minutes hand-washing a black t-shirt, black boxer briefs, and loose black pants that were definitely too short but it was the only size available that could fit that waist, so you had to make do. You put the other shirts and underwear in the washing machine, but you needed to wash at least one outfit and hang it to dry. You tried to use the hottest water your hands could handle to sterilize the clothing, wincing at the blistering heat.

You didn't know if Yoongi could get coronavirus but you weren't going to risk it.

Eventually you placed everything on the drying rack and positioned your space heater on them to dry them off.

Then you passed out on the couch. You deserved it, after working so hard.

Only to be woken up by Yoongi poking your shoulder roughly and telling you he couldn't wear the underwear and pants.

He was still holding the duvet around his body and your neck was still regretting every second of sleeping on the couch. Ow. Too much physical labor. Quarantine had turned you into a formless potato. You sat up halfway, wincing. Ugh, pain. You jabbed your finger at Yoongi, who gave you a displeased narrowing of his eyes.

"Put the pants on, you animal!"

Yoongi swept around the sofa, mint duvet and all, determined glint in his dark orbs, lips pursed in annoyance. You started, cracking your neck by accident, yelping in pain as you fell back against the couch.

Yoongi planted himself on top of you nimbly.

You froze.

Partly because you were shocked, but mostly because your neck seized a bit.

His legs were on either side of you, body still wrapped up, perfectly balanced despite the sudden leap, surveying you with a disapproving and discerning eye. The silver bell on his neck jingled with his movement. You could feel his calves against your knees.

His bare calves.

"Are you dumb?"

"What?" you croaked in response.

Yoongi rolled his eyes. "You always forget things."

You blinked at him, confused, neck heating. "What are you talking about?" you snapped impatiently.

"This."

Thump.

You felt something long and furry hit your leg. Your body almost jerked up in surprise, but Yoongi hissed at you, making you lurch back, somewhat stunned at how cat-like it sounded. It was definitely a warning. You were still in your pajamas, slightly thinner material than your usual clothes. It had been cold outside, but your everlasting embarrassment had kept you toasty warm.

Like it was now, because you realized your clothed outer thigh was touching his inner thigh.

His naked inner thigh.

You let out a noise between shock and confusion.

"Urk?"

The long, furry thing brushed against your legs as Yoongi watched you reach your slow realization.

"O-oh... Right. You have a tail..."

He grunted, thinning his eyes into slits. "Yes, because I am a cat."

Highly debatable at the moment, but you were too busy remembering your cat also had a human dick and nuts. Well, not also. Only had? Well. Maybe if you had a seco–

No. No, never mind that. Yeah.

Never.

Mind.

You gulped, trying to suppress the rising heat in your ears and failing. "I can sew?"

Yoongi tilted his head, nose wrinkling a bit. Then he got off you, circling around the couch. You sat up, neck still hurting, but the warmth of your embarrassment somehow helping. Yes, great, trading temporary physical pain for lifetime mental embarrassment, only for such moments to be remembered at the most inopportune times to throw you off guard.

Awesome.

You visibly cringed before standing up, seeing Yoongi's hand snake out and nab the boxer briefs, making them disappear into the duvet. You saw the fabric rustle and then the briefs reappeared, chucked at your face.

Your head snapped back at the force, arms flailing.

"Mmphf!"

"Should be about four or five centimeters. Make it quick. It's hot under here."

You yanked the underwear off your face, scowling. "I'm not your maid!"

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, black ears flicking. He was smirking at you. You narrowed your eyes. What was this guy so high and mighty for? If anything, he should be grateful that you even car–

"You're been cleaning up my literal shit for a few years now, so you are practically are my maid."

... Wait a second, he's right.

You growled and hauled yourself up.

An hour later, your cat was dressed.

Cat?

Man?

Whatever.

Min Yoongi was finally wearing clothes and not your duvet and your fingers stung like a bitch.

You ended up snipping a hole and using bias tape to seal off the raw edges. You didn’t own a sewing machine, so this was the next best thing you could think of without destroying your fingers by trying to imitate zig-zag stiches, although you ended up destroying your fingers anyway because you had to sew small, delicate stitches to attach the bias tape. The area was too high traffic to not reinforce.

Sigh.

“Please tell me you know how to use the bathroom by yourself from now on.”

Yoongi had raised an eyebrow.

“Of course. I’ve watched you enough times to know how to expel human excrement.”

Right. Because he was your cat. Don’t think about it too much. You were trying to take everything one thing at a time so you didn’t overwhelm yourself. Those were future-you problems. Why does he talk like that anyway? You didn’t even know how he knew Korean. Was it because you watched too much television? Yikes.

You rubbed your forehead, dismissing the discussion. “Good talk.”

You realized you would have to cut openings for his tail for all the underwear on the drying rack but, again, that was a future-you problem. Instead, you let him change in your bedroom and went to retrieve the laptop on your coffee table. Plugged it in and turned it on.

All your settings were wack.

“The fuck?” you muttered, resetting your display, volume, brightness, sigh, nearly everything. This only happened when a certain someone stepped on the keys when you weren’t looking. You raised your voice, still looking at the screen. “Did you fuck with my computer last night?”

“No. Oh, well, I did sleep on it,” Yoongi was saying as he stepped out of your bedroom. You growled in your chest, annoyed, but setting everything back into its place before opening your Google calendar. Nothing due immediately, thank god. “Er, maybe you shouldn’t…”

You looked up.

Oh.

Oh?

Oh!

Yoongi mussed his black hair, scratching at his velvety black ear. You noticed he didn’t have a set of human ears. Well, duh. That’d be weird. He was still wearing the black choker with the little silver bell on it. The t-shirt was nicely loose on his frame, the black standing out against his fair skin. The sweatpants were a little short on the ankle, the slim fit showing off his leanness. The sleek black tail swished back and forth.

He was… handsome.

Yoongi looked apprehensive, twisting his lips to one side. “Hmm.”

You blinked at him. “What?”

He shrugged. “Well, when I woke up as a human, I was cold, except for…” His hand ghosted towards his crotch. He pulled it away, waving it aside. “Mmm, never mind.”

You gave him a confused look and went back to your keyboard, typing away. Yoongi winced but you were too busy replying to an email to think too much about it.

We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to inform you of the following.

Min Yoongi had woken up on the coffee table, fucking freezing because humans didn’t have fur, and because his nuts and dick were getting roasted by your overheating laptop keyboard.

Upon waking up, he had a mild mental breakdown as you continued snoring loudly and unceremoniously, before scurrying away to the warmest place he knew – your bed, where he claimed the duvet and tried to figure out what the fuck was going on.

Is this real life?

He had poked at various parts of his new body, trying to figure out if this was a dream or a horrific nightmare.

As we all know.

Life is a horrific nightmare, so indeed, this was real life.

You jumped as Yoongi slumped down on the sofa next to you, sticking his head and ears into your view, blocking the computer screen.

“I’m hungry.”

You gawked at him.

“What a-are you d-doing?” you sputtered.

“I’m hungry,” he repeated. He had a bit of a raspy, almost growly voice at times, reminding you of a cat’s meow. His meow, in fact.

You scooted away, neck heating. Yoongi followed, prodding you.

“Why are you like this?” you grumbled irritably, smacking his hand. Yoongi persisted, as if you did nothing at all.

“This is how I get your attention, because you humans will ignore me if I don’t.”

“You’re a human too!”

“No, I am a cat.”

“Hello?” You grabbed his hand and jabbed at his palm, pointing to his thumb. “Cats don’t have thumbs!”

Yoongi yanked his hand out, shockingly similar to how Shooky used to pull his paw out when you were massaging his little white socks and he was over it. You noticed his cuticles looked a bit dry and torn up. Lately, Shooky’s paws had been a little chewed up too. You frowned at it, tilting your head.

Yoongi stood up and his tail whacked you in the face.

“Ow!”

“Feed me.”

You scowled, rubbing your cheek. Yoongi stared down at you, face expressionless.

Okay, your cat might be a man now, but he was still a borderline asshole, so not much had changed.

“Fine.”

You both stared at the bowl of dry cat food.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow.

“What am I supposed to do with all this cat food then? I just brought it last week!”

“That’s your problem.”

You threw up your hands and cooked you both some lunch.

This was too much.

You know what you did when it was too much?

You took a nap.

You had dishes to clean, underwear to make tail-holes for, a cat that was now a man, an existential crisis to address, but you know what? You took a fucking nap instead. You left Yoongi with your computer and Netflix and told him to do whatever as long as none of it involved him leaving the house.

Yoongi had snorted. “What do I need to go out there for?”

“Awesome. I’m taking a nap.”

And you passed out.

Only to wake up groggily because your lungs were being crushed.

Actually no, it kind of felt like your whole torso was being crushed.

“Urk…!”

You fought with your sleepiness, somehow worse off than you had been before the nap, scrunching up your face ad blinking blearily. Head on memory foam pillow, check. Back on soft mattress, check. Black hair with sleek cat ears and pale face pressed on your chest? Check.

What, wait?

“Gah!”

You lurched and the head grunted, shoulders solidly pinning you down. He was under the mint-colored duvet. Yoongi, your cat that was now a man, was under the duvet.

UNDER THE DUVET.

“Stop yelling. Is that all you humans do? Yell?”

“Why are you – what are you doing here?” you hissed shrilly, trying to wiggle out from under him, but it was impossible. Yoongi was far too big now for you to throw him off.

“Sleeping, obviously,” he grumbled. “Or I was, until you started shouting.”

“Yes, but this is my bed,” you emphasized, realizing you could move your hands so you grabbed him by the waist, fingers grasping the black jersey fabric. You pressed inwards, hands molding to his sides.

Yoongi raised his head, squinting down at you.

You froze.

An oddly familiar gaze of accusation and uncaring. His eyes were dark brown, not the recognizable mint, but the effect was the same. Pink lips upturned, slightly annoyed.

And.

You suddenly remembered he was a man.

A man who was pressed down against you, long legs around your legs, broad chest to your chest, and shockingly attractive for someone who used to be a cat.

“I sleep in your bed all the time. What’s the difference?” Yoongi muttered.

What’s the difference?

The difference???

You’re a man!

A HOT MAN!!!

You struggled to find words, completely entranced by how close Yoongi’s face was to yours, watching his ears adjust slightly to pick up all the small sounds around him. You opened your mouth and it only made a tiny squeak. The pressure on your chest was becoming unbearable. You were so shocked that you completely forgot that you were still dying. You cleared your throat as Yoongi looked increasingly displeased.

“You… You used to be over the duvet…”

Yoongi yawned, nodding a little. “Yes, but it’s colder now. No more fur. I don’t know how you humans survive. Must be why you buy these warm things.”

Your hands were still on his waist. You pulled them away quickly and Yoongi frowned.

“Y-Yeah, but… you weigh a lot more now…” you croaked. “Can’t… breathe…”

Yoongi sighed heavily, as if this was a great disappointment. He slid off you.

“Hmm, I suppose that’s true.”

He nestled close to you and you still stunned, pin-straight body.

“Guess it’ll have to be like this instead from now on.”

Like this?

From now on?

Oh. Oh no.

Yoongi’s velvety, pointed ear flicked against your cheek, a low hum resounding in his chest.

part ii

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #bts smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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symphonyofthewrite · 4 years ago

Text

If These Walls Could Talk

Freaking GORGEOUS cover art by Junki Sakuraba on Instagram and Deviantart!! Definitely go check him out!! His art is incredible, and from what I can tell he’s really nice dude. He absolutely went above and beyond with this prompt. 10/10 would commission again. (And probably will once I save up enough money XD)

The wonderful art later in the chaper is by niuan_ on instagram!!

It wasn’t made/commissioned for this fic--(though I’ve since commissioned her to make cover art for me, so stay tuned for those!)--but when I saw it I couldn’t believe it!! That’s one of my favorite images in this chapter, and I couldn’t believe another artist made a piece for the same idea independently!!

I'll put the links to their profiles either in the replies or a reblog (since tumblr is dumb about links)!!

Also, FYI, I'll be using this post as my "reblog post" meaning I'll reblog this post with the later chapters of this fic, so they're all in one place. So if you want to read more of this fic, check the reblogs on this post, chances are more chapters will be there!!

Comments and reblogs are MORE than appreciated!! If you have a spare minute you will really make my week, and motivate me to keep writing!!

Fandom: Castlevania Netflix

Summary: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too.

The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.

Chapter Summary:

“My mother’s name was Lisa, and she was mortal…She actually showed up at his front door. She found the castle and banged the door with the pommel of her knife…She was remarkable. She beat on the door until my father let her in, and then demanded he teach her how to be a doctor.”

Chapter 1: "Lisa”

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

The castle doesn’t like children.

Well, maybe that’s too strong to say. It simply isn’t the place for them. Its existence is a signpost: leave me alone. It is not used to having company—much less a family—inside it, nor is it ready to welcome for a crying, puking, giggling thing into the world. It does not intend to be a cozy place to coddle him into adulthood.

The castle itself pierces the sky, its turrets and towers the dripping stain of the sun’s blood across the moon.

The bare walls hold no colorful tapestries for a child to enjoy, no paintings of its many inhabitants to tell of—for there was only ever one (and maybe that ought not change. It is safe to say the castle doesn’t like change). The royal red and gold carpets are more suited to kings; not designed for spit-up, mud, and scuffing. ‘Don’t play with that’ would be a motto around here; so many contraptions either easy to break, or which could break the child. The fireplaces, while almost always lit, only ever coughed warmth onto the floor before them—they provided no snug space to curl up on a winter’s day. Even the mirrors here are empty, holding nothing but a reflection of the bare walls they sit upon.

There are certain people who were seemingly born as they are; they never owned toys, never crawled on the floor, never walked with clumsy steps—their footfalls were always this calculated count—never burped on their mother’s nice shirts, and surely never had anything so dull as a childhood. They were always just…here, on the world. There was no innocence, and no losing it. So it was with Dracula.

The very thought of Dracula ever owning toys, even in some nice cottage far away from here, with a doting mother and an absent father, with a funny last name like Cronqvist, defied sense to the castle. So no, no toys here, nor any simple charts for learning; the books divulged their secrets to more mature minds. Just blood and books, gold and gears, forgotten magic means, mirrors that reflect nothing, and a pile of prayers to a good God they used to justify their ungood, and ungodly deeds.

All these things—or their absence—do not make for the picture of a baby-proof home.

The castle has grown accustomed to being cold and dark, and listening to one master alone. It’s not a quaint place lovers look on and think we’ll raise our kids here someday.

Its master isn’t the ideal father either—after all, the castle only reflected its king. Its master knows only of blood and nails, fangs and wails, words too big for a child’s mouth, and worlds too dark for a child’s heart.

Can he be soft? Can he be gentle? Can he keep those claws, which have ripped out better men’s hearts, from piercing a child’s—his child’s…how could one who killed so many have a child?—skin? He knows many spells, but is there one that can turn those screams into laughter?

He has been soft before. Once. And that is with this woman.

Many women have walked the castle’s halls: shivering, shrieking damsels at his feet; cold and calculating queens; fragile bodies on the floor, that he broke with the same regard a child does a vase that matters to someone else.

Those ordinary people who do come often have pitchforks in their mouths, and fiery words in their closed fists. Curses stacked on the end of stakes, banging like the castle is the church bell signifying their own funerals.

It is for this reason that the castle does not like outsiders, does not open its doors easily. But it cannot deny anyone entry. Unlike the humans’ doors, which find his master guilty until proven innocent.

They always came at night. At night, when the loudest sound is your own breathing. At night, when their fires echoed loudest, and their shouts burned brightest.

They came when the flowers were closed, when only the most eerie and vicious of animals played with the skins of their prey, and the moon waxed the world in cold, drunk shine. The sun could not watch them, could not show their blood-struck hands in their full glory.

She came at sunset. When the sun still glazed her deeds in sanguine auburn, but was just deciding to turn its gaze and let the kids have their fun. Not quite day, when the sun would kill things like Dracula, but not quite night, when the hours are named after witches, and lust is strongest—be it for the body, or the blood within it. Somewhere in between death and life, violence and peace.

This woman came with a knife in her hand, yes. But a knife, at least, was not a sword. It was not a pitchfork, a spear, a whip, or a stake; all weapons that signify, if the fight wasn’t there, you were bringing it with you. Not a war-starved weapon, pointing with mal-in—and -con—tent towards the castle doors and all the things inside it. Not a thirsty thing. Something that by default faced the other direction. Something that can start a fight if it wants to, but doesn’t crave it.

The golden woman came at sunset, with a knife in her hand, and looked upon this thing, this castle that others called ‘ugly’, and ‘monstrous,’ and ‘grotesque,’ looked upon it with awe, and gasped in wonder.

She knocked. She didn’t bang her fists upon the stone, didn’t ram pitchforks and assorted insults against the innocent doors, like how-dare-they protect their master.

She knocked, and the doors opened before she could raise her fist a second time. Maybe, just this once, not because they didn’t have any other choice.

The doors—foreboding, menacing, and all the other spooky -ings one can think of—opened to a world strewn in light; the demon’s castle looked brighter, more beautiful, more alive, than half the churches she’d been to.

Her footsteps were gentle against the castle’s floors. Not a slow, forced gentleness, but also not a piercing, purposeful march. There was no apprehension to her footsteps; her feet carried her as if anxious to take her to as many rooms as they could.

At first her steps were the only sound, enough to fool some into thinking they’re alone.

And it became clear both that she was not alone, and not a fool.

But when she saw the demon, she put the knife away, and used her words.

She used her words to repeat those she herself had heard: stories. But not the kind that make monstrous men run at the doors with naughts and crosses, the kind pious people buried along with all evidence that the world wasn’t made of black and white.

Not all the stories told that this place was cold and dark and full of death.

Amongst all the stories about death, there were others that said Vlad Tepes brought this castle to life with science, forbidden knowledge, and a little bit of lightning. Stories that say there is life here.

And, in exchange for proof that these life-stories true, Dracula asked for a trade, a trade that would prove the other stories true too. He gave up the killing a while ago—(the castle has been in one place a very long time)—but he was still not used to giving for free, and definitely not used to getting for free. Vampires trade in blood and names, not diamonds and declarations. Vampires trade in things they can swallow. This castle, too, had been a gaping hole set to swallow the world and everything that entered. Never once had it given.

And she dared to say, that this place, its master, should learn to give, when the humans have done nothing but take from them—or try their best to. He ought to be the one to invite her in, to ask what she would like, to dispense pleasant words and kind actions, when the humans forgot they invented hospitality, and showed no invitation for him to even enter their homes.

But she didn’t come with a mouth full of garlic, and hands full of superstition. Her feet did not drill holes in the floor with their sharp toll, they wandered the scenic route.

She was used to being cheated. Dracula and his castle were too. But that was not why she was there. She was not there for cheap tricks, or death. She wanted something real. A little bit of the life the castle has to offer.

Her defiance wasn’t that of a terrified citizen, or angry queen, either; rather the calm resolve of someone who is asking for something they know in their heart is good, and knows they will get it. The kind of person who believes there is good in everyone, and that this good will ultimately always win, and who won’t leave until they convince this good to show its face.

The castle has watched countless men and women cower at the foot of count Dracula. Some, do have a measure of god-sanctioned defiance; they come with whips and scourges to defeat him. The castle and the king are bound together in their resolve against them.

Except one. Except this woman. One human whom both master and castle found themselves reluctant to deny, cast away, or kill, maybe even…taken with.

She may be human, but she was not like the rest; she did not light the night on fire with her thirst for blood.

So maybe, just maybe, they could let one ray of sunlight slip through the cracks.

She was also not devoid of life, and maybe that was the key.

‘Devoid of life’ was an accurate portrayal of the castle. Bats flying out of blackness is a good description of a cave, and caves don’t usually come with the brochure ‘teeming with life’, or ‘great place to take your kids!’. The castle had a soul-sucking quality to it; those who entered often found themselves leaving less alive than they arrived. It took after its vampire master. Those who didn’t actually lose their lives within its walls, often remarked upon leaving that the flowers bloomed brighter, the birds sang louder, the grass was greener, and that they missed the sunlight.

Sunlight. Such a base thing; vampires don’t need the light or warmth to be happy.

Sunlight. Such a base way to die; wanting to get out of the cold and the dark.

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

Castlevania was alive once. Once Dracula set the pumps, and its heart began to beat. He turned the gears, and its lungs inhaled. He forged the lightning, and it began to think. Once the books, full of unknown knowledge, jumped off the shelves to get the vampire king’s attention. He filled the bottles and beakers, and they bubbled, as if laughing at a joke only they shared.

They were both alive, once.

That waned, with time. The gears got arthritis, the books caught pneumonia, the experiments atrophied. The castle ached before she came.

And Dracula, alone in the halls, picking up books and putting them down again without so much as a polite glance through them, because he read them all before. Dracula looking into fractured mirrors that could take him anywhere, but deciding there wasn’t anywhere he wanted to go. Dracula, looking into old mirrors that don’t reflect him—like there was never anything to reflect, nothing alive here to begin with, and there isn’t a master for this castle after all. Nothing but a grave. Dracula sitting alone in his study, staring into the fire. No one to talk to. No sound but flipping pages and crackling fires—nothing alive. Alive but dead. This castle. Its master. Undead is the proper term.

The other women who came through here reflected the castle, or else the castle took the life out of them the moment they entered. Queens with malice-stained past, and cracked, icy future in their eyes. Just as cold as the walls. Subjects, humans throwing gruesome insults, silky flattery, or fluttering pleas at his feet. Just as empty as the mirrors.

Only one refused the castle’s bite. Only one walked in looking for life, rather than death. Looking for a thing no one thought existed here. Already presumed dead. Put six feet beneath the ground. But maybe it was here all along; maybe the light hid in the castle’s corners while the dark came out to play, and she just had to coax it out of its hiding places. Maybe the bell was ringing all this time, she was the only one who came close enough to hear it; the only one who came to put flowers on the grave.

Maybe when she felt the machinery pumping she knew the rhythm was a heartbeat. Maybe when she heard the gears clanking she knew it was the sound of inhaling and exhaling. Maybe when she saw the lightning, she wondered what it was thinking. Maybe she looked at these books, these instruments, and saw what the vampire king saw once; something alive. They weren’t dead yet—un- or otherwise. Just sick, and in need of proper treatment. She was a doctor after all. Maybe her first subject was the very books she learned from.

Lisa, who looked at this blotch on the sky, with Death in its towers, and darkness splattered on its walls, and thought that’s where I’ll learn to heal people. Lisa, who gaped in amazement at the beast of a building. Lisa, who didn’t shudder upon entering. Lisa, who didn’t scream when its master touched her, but turned to him with calm resolve, and told him she’d teach him to be more human. Lisa, who’s life eclipsed the undeath in this place.

And there was a trade that occurred that day. For Dracula’s immortal knowledge, Lisa would teach him how to live a mortal life. To travel the world as a man, to walks as a man, to eat and drink, laugh and cry, as a man. Immortality for mortality. They gave each other the world, as so many lovers promise to do. Vlad would make her immortal, and Lisa would make him mortal, with no exchange blood.

(Except to create a thing with both their blood running through it.)

So maybe, after all this talk of life, it is fitting that she wants to create life inside this castle.

Fitting, maybe. Fitting for her. But the castle is not mortal yet, and wishes it could protest that it isn’t the right size, refuse to try on the idea.

Dracula is apprehensive as well, for the castle and he are used to each other, they take after each other, because the cold, and the dark, and the death, and the alone does something to you after a while; you start talking to the walls. After the cold queens and quaking colleens leave, or leave their bloodstains the floor. After the beasts and their silver-stained bullets turn back into righteous men in the sun. After he simply outlives everyone else. When all the living things hate, fear, or else betray you, when all the living things can die, and you, who are undead, cannot, it’s the lifeless things that stand firm by your side. When the day ends and the shadows come out to play, when you’re the only one left, in the end you still have the walls. And then…the walls are all you have. And if you talk to them long enough you make a sort of pact, spoken or silent, with those speechless stones: ‘you’re the only one I can trust.’

Dracula speaks to them one day, says he wonders if he can do this, be a father at all, not to mention a good one. The castle cannot reply. But something deep inside the walls wonders if it might be nice to hear Dracula laugh. It might be nice to put on some different clothes. It might be nice for someone new to listen to from time to time. It might be nice to live again.

The castle is concerned. Used to doing things one way, being one way, and only hearing one voice. But that doesn’t mean it is unwilling, that it intends to kill the child.

It never kills anything—Dracula does that. It cannot do anything on its own, and that includes change.

The castle doesn’t like change.

…But that doesn’t mean it won’t.

And if its going to change, its master must change first. They must change together.

Vampires do not have reflections. But Dracula has a castle, and that castle will be damned if it isn’t his mirror.

Reflections are simple to change; put on some makeup, some war paint, a new change of clothes, get a piercing somewhere. Simple, yes, but not easy, to change completely, because that doesn’t mean anything’s changed inside.

The castle did not come equipped for child-rearing; there are no rooms full of toys and cradles and school supplies.

So if this is to be, they must build their son’s world themselves.

Together they set aside a room for the child’s arrival. Just one, single room. And the castle too knows, from the start, this room will be different from all the rest. They will put paintings on the walls, and banners in the halls; things to interest him, to tell him of his parents, at least, even if there are few other relatives to spend Christmas with. The carpets will be darker, instead of the stringent red, and they will make their words smaller, the books easier to understand. The rest of the castle is warm in color, but cool in atmosphere. This room will be cool in color, but warm in atmosphere. The fire will always be set in its place, and they will try their best to make sure the warmth reaches him; if the fire fails, they will knit blankets; if the blankets fail they will make him tea, or warm milk with honey; and when everything else fails they will hold him. If there are tears here, scornful stares will not greet them, instead, kisses and lullabies will be behind door number three. If this room lives, it will be because of something much softer than pounding metal and lighting.

If a child is to live here, they must change that reflection. Everything Dracula’s castle appears to be, this room will be the reverse. Separate. Something… other than the castle.

This room will bottle all the laughter had in this castle. This room will be made of and for living, not the death the rest of the place is steeped in. So much so that this room will not stand for bloodshed.

Lisa brings in supplies from her town; color and cloth, boards and brushes, needle, and thread, and paper; all the things one needs to build a universe.

It is Dracula who takes the paint, who changes the color to something other than the blacks and reds of the rest of the Vampire’s world, cementing on the walls themselves You will not be dark here, my castle. You will be kind to him, Castlevania. The castle doesn’t know its master to work with his hands like a human, but Vlad is not the same within this room either—this room is part of the trade. He doesn’t use magic, or science, as if he is telling himself with every hammer that they are going to change together, the way one does when talking to the mirror.

Lisa sits in a chair and stiches together cloth and fur to make little creatures, toys for the boy to play with. Soft things, not sharp. They are reflections too, littler, simpler ones, of the creatures howling and prowling outside the castle’s walls, or scurrying within them.

But it is the ceiling that is the crowning jewel of the room. Something they paint together—splashing it onto each other’s clothes and noses.

His parents love the stars. They often walk outside the castle walls, fingers knit into each other’s, to gaze at them. They are scholars at soul, and have charted the constellations. They want their child to be able to do the same, to watch the stars, even if he’s not outside. At the end of every day they want him to be sung to sleep by the symphony of the night.

For them, maybe, but to the castle, one of the most interesting things about this room, is the mirror. This is strange, as, while there are other mirrors in this house, they are nothing more than a silver decoration; they have no purpose here, unless they float in shards and possibility. This is an ordinary mirror. It does hold something now, however, and that’s Lisa—only giving more credence to the idea that she is the only living thing in this castle. The castle wonders if they think it will reflect the child, as if they are hoping he will take after his mother and the room.

The mirror, and the windows. In the rest of the castle, the windows are always closed, curtained, or too small to let any real light in. But here they are big, and inviting to all the wiles of the day. Dracula protested—fearing he would burn. Lisa insisted—hoping he would shine.

The mirror, the room, are empty now. The windows closed. The books and charts dormant as the rest. It is not dead, but it’s not alive either. Not even undead. Just a question. An almost.

The room lays on Frankenstein’s table; just one lightning strike—(or one child’s laugh)—away from breathing.

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alatismeni-theitsa · 3 years ago

Note

I have no idea when you posted asking about the experiences of Greek diaspora / Greek heritage but I just saw it so I thought I’d send in my stuff.

I am so disconnected from it because my grandma didn’t want to pass the language into her children so she could have adult conversations they wouldn’t understand. And she didn’t pass on the culture because her husband was Jehovah’s Witness. And so I just feel an intense feeling of grief over a culture that I’m apart of but know very little about. I have some recipes my Yiayia made, a cookbook by women from the Greek Orthodox Church in NYC, and two lullaby’s. (We lived in the US with my great grandma so we had more interaction with Greek culture than our cousins who’s lived with my grandma in Ireland)

And there’s not much out that I’ve found where I’ve been able to learn about my culture and not felt like I’m intruding. Especially because I don’t “look Greek” like some of the other greek kids at my school. I look Irish. I don’t have a Greek name and I don’t speak any of the language. The only way I’ve found to connect is through food but I’m limited to the cookbook because if you look online it’s hard to find recipes that aren’t just trendy mediterranen inspired health food. My mum is starting to reluctantly tell me a little about my family from Greece. And my grandmas cousin and her family is very very greek. So if I fly down to see her she’ll teach me stuff (though she’s the matriarch of the family so she’s pretty intimidating). Anyway. That’s my experience with my my greek heritage.

I just sent the long-ass ask about Greek heritage but I forgot the bit where I was Greek enough to get bullied over Greek food. Yay. Dolmades are good though I don’t care if they “look little poop”

___________________[END OF ASK] __________________________

Hey and sorry for the delay 💙 I asked some time ago but that doesn't mean newer answers aren't welcome anytime!

Dear, I am grieving with you for the loss 😔 I can't say the reasons the language wasn't passed on seem very logical to me. There are things that didn't get passed on to me because my grandparents thought I would automatically know, or they didn't bother teaching, so I can relate to that feeling 😔

You are definitely NOT intruding! I can understand why it feels this way after what you told me, but it seems to me you have every right to know! Greek culture welcomes anyone from Cameroon to Japan, so, realistically, nothing should stop you from having access to it. Plus, it's your own family!

Oh damn, the "I don't look Greek" plague 😩 As everyone knows there's no specific qualifier of appearance for being part of Hellenismos. On this particular occasion, I'll go one step further and say that, unless you have raid hair, you probably look like a lot of Greeks.

There are Greeks whose appearance is rare for this ethnicity, but "looking Irish" is a thing that 1/4 (at least?) of Greek people relate to. One thing Greeks of diaspora often hear is that "they don't look Greek enough", aka they look "too white". Your surrounding Greeks might not look like you but if you go through my tag #Greek people, which has hundreds of videos, portraits, and photos of Greeks from all eras, you might realize you look like many Greeks.

Again, appearance doesn't matter in the slightest when it comes to culture, but I sensed your appearance issue was the flavor of "too white looking" and it's the most infuriating thing to me because many, many Greeks look "too white looking" for the standards foreigners have made for them!

Anyways, on to the food! I am so happy you are trying some of the recipes :D (And that you are doing everything to connect to your heritage if it brings you joy!) How dare they speak badly about dolmades??? 😭 Many countries close to Greece also have that dish and we must find them so we can have a dolmades alliaaaaanceee!

I'd also like to add, don't feel pressured to get too much into the culture if you don't want to. Many Greeks in Greece keep different types of distance from their tradition and that should also be your right. Again, do and learn whatever pleases you! Just keep in mind that you are valid in your current state without going the extra mile to learn every Greek thing possible.

People across the globe can have various degrees of Greek heritage and if that "amount" of heritage is "less" then it's okay and natural because it's what happens when people immigrate. The more generations pass, the more this old part is left behind. For example, many Greeks in Greece can also come from other backgrounds (Austrian, Egyptian, Slavic (various countries), etc) and they, too have many parts of their older heritages lost. They practice Greek customs almost exclusively now.

There's a cultural plane that shifts all the time in countries around the world and families assimilate to a new culture as they adapt to a new place. At this moment you are also part of a US regional culture and there is no shame in *also* identifying as part of it. That won't erase any Greek part of you.

The above doesn't aim to discourage you in any way on searching more about Greek culture! It's only a general disclaimer. People from inside a culture (usually in diaspora) tend to judge those who participate less, as if any person with X heritage is in a place to keep the same amount of touch with it 🙄

Sure, tradition is very important but nobody should be forced to practice it if they don't want to - or if they just can't. Tradition is people, and some traditions change or die naturally because many individuals from the inside wanted it to.

It's hard being caught in between - not "American enough" and not "Greek enough". The paradox is that you must first feel secure in this position. Granted, it's easier said than done but mentally it will save you the mindset of needing to be "more American" or "more Greek". As you understand, you don't need to feel apologetic to Americans for who you are, and you don't need to feel apologetic to Greeks in America or anywhere else for the exact same reason.

Some Greeks of diaspora feel distressed about their accents in Greek (or they don't want to admit they have an accent) or for not being perceived as Greeks automatically by other Greeks when they visit the country. But that's unavoidable because these differences exist and people raised in Greece can spot them. Therefore, people in the US whom you are afraid might feel superior to you for knowing more things about Greece, may come to Greece and feel like foreigners.

So they shouldn't make this a race beacuse it's not one they would normally "win" by their own standards. Chances are, after you learn anything you can, you will also have distance from what is considered the "default" Greek culture. It's part of the organic process of time + distance from the country, and Greeks with half a brain won't look down on you for that.

What I mean to say is that there is no certain bar an ordinary person can ever pass to be given any prize of the "ultimate Έλληνας". Not even Greeks in Greece know where that bar is when it comes to their own touch with tradition. There is no golden standard, no finishing line!

I encourage you to continue your journey on learning Greek things and while you are at it, know that objectively you have nothing to prove to anyone, even though you might feel otherwise. I say, fly to your grandma's cousin and let her teach you stuff!

You know that the intimidating demeanor Greek aunties and grandmas have doesn't necessarily reflect their love for you. You might also know that older Greeks are more reserved in showing appreciation. And in the hypothetical scenario where they don't really like you that much, they are still bound to you because you are family, so feel free to use their expertise 👀 If they don't give their knowledge to their family, whom are they going to give it to?? The neighbor??

If they throw any shade at you for now knowing enough take a deeeeeep breath, remember this isn't a race, and continue learning from them. (And you will feel the Greek experience of not deemed worthy enough by your relatives 😂 It's a win win!) If you haven't, check the poem Ithaca by K.P. Kavafy! I think it applies to this situation in a way!

You can always come here and browse thousands of posts about Greece! (In the Desktop version the most important show up on the left of the main page). I have #modern Greece #Greek custom #Greek tradition #Greek dance #Greek cuisine #Greek literature and whatever else your heart desires!

If you want to slowly learn Greek, Greekpod 101 and Easy Greek channels on YouTube have great content! I also have my tag #learn Greek on this blog with sources and explanations. (#Greek language and #Greek word can also be useful!) They are all accessible to English speakers!

You now have a distant Greek auntie who is at your disposal for any type of question (even the "stupid" questions)! Literally, ask me anything and I will try to answer it or find more info for you! You can DM me if you don't want to leave an ask. You are not intruding and it's my pleasure to help!

#thank you for your message <3 #it's hard for me to give tone in text - i hope i wasnt too intimidating either :p #the blog is here for your questions about greece so dont hesitate to ask!#answered #greek diaspora #greeks in the us #greek speaks

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avengers-age-of-fanfics · 4 years ago

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just for you, honeybee (3/?)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader, steve rogers x reader (platonic)

word count: 3,986

authors note: part three!!!! I'm honestly so happy with how this is turning out so please leave feedback and lmk how I'm doing! thank you all so much :)

warnings: swearing, super soldier serum injection, needles, drinking

summary: dating back to 1943, you, james barnes, and steve rogers were best friends, including bucky being your boyfriend. when you get a notice that bucky died in the war, you make it your mission to find closure for yourself and protect steve as he is the only remaining piece of bucky you have left. once you are offered the super soldier serum, you and steve must make your way through world war 2 - and the unknown future hardships to come.

recap: You picked at your nails, anxiety swallowing you whole, “and what if you don’t make it back, either?”

“I will.”

It had only taken you 5 days to make up your mind: either go with Steve as he finishes out his mission with the army or wait in Brooklyn upon his return. “Well,” you always bit back, “if you return.”

You did not want to stay in Brooklyn and wait for Steve to come back. You had done that with Bucky and after learning his tragic death, you needed to go with Steve. You didn’t care who you had to fight – you were protecting Steve Rogers and looking after him, just like James would have wanted.

Peggy Carter immediately welcomed you and seemed somewhat relieved when you had met with them outside your apartment complex, bags packed and ready to go. She had given you a soft smile and a nod, making you feel more at calm with your decision. However, before you left, you needed to say goodbye – just in case.

Dressed in a tie-neck floral dress, you headed across the street to where Grover was, selling newspapers once again in the early morning. However, when he wasn’t on the sidewalk, he was in your apartment, holding you as you cried for Bucky. Grover had helped you open Bucky’s files and put on his dog tags; he was there while Steve was sorting out your arrangements with Peggy. He had your snot stains on his nicest shirts that you always apologized for, and he had carefully placed the dog tags over your head; Grover was certainly one of your rocks when Steve needed to grieve on his own, which you understood.

Noticing your approaching figure, Grover stood up and shooed people away from his stand, meeting you halfway. He noticed your solemn look, “you goin’ with Mr. America?”

With a nod, you wrapped your arms around the older man’s neck, his chubby arms meeting your waist in a split second, “I have to, Grove. I needta’ keep my promise to James, and watch after Stevie.”

Grover tightened his grip around you and squeezed, much like a father would, “sure that super soldier can’t do it himself? Looks more than capable.”

You shook your head against his neck, “I promised – I promised James; you know that.”

Grover pulled away, resting his hands on your shoulders, “I know you did, kid…but that don’t mean it still pains me to see ya go…Come back here, the both of you, in one piece – ya hear me?”

With a nod, you squeezed Grover’s hand on your shoulder and went back to where Steve and Peggy were standing by an army truck, your bags already in the trunk. As the two looked back at you, you gave a curt nod, “I’m ready.”

Steve helped you into the backseat as Peggy headed up front, starting the truck up once you were all piled in. As you rode off, away from Brooklyn, you looked back to your home, and gave a sad wave to Grover who was already back to selling newspapers – but you saw him wiping his cheeks. Tears flooded your eyes as you imagined you and Bucky finding a nice white picket house in Brooklyn once he came back like he promised. Turning back around, you wiped your eyes, looking forward to the road, a hand wrapped around Bucky’s dog tags.

Only a little while into the car ride, you leaned forward, asking the two soldiers a question, “where exactly are we headed?”

Steve turned around towards you, “first, Camp Lehigh where we’ll get you some ID so they know you’re with Peggy and me. Then, London, where Colonel Phillips got a lead on Schmidt’s new hideout.”

You looked down at your nails, picking at the skin surrounding them, “can I be of help in any way? And, uh… who is Schmidt?”

Peggy glanced back at you for a quick moment, “how are your fighting skills, y/n?”

Steve gave her a glare, “no, absolutely not.”

The driver looked back once more, expecting an answer. You glanced at Steve, “I’ve got experience with guns and hand-on-hand combat.”

Steve shook his head, “that’s nice but I’m not letting you do what I think Peggy is insinuating.”

Peggy elbowed him before she answered you, “there’s a chance your skills may come in handy, Miss y/n, but it won’t be an easy feat.”

You nodded to her, “I’d like to be of any service I can, Agent Carter.”

Steve grumbled, “am I just invisible to you two?” That finally got a giggle out of you and Steve glanced back, squeezing your hand, before turning towards the front.

You waited a few moments before you tapped Steve’s shoulder, getting his attention, “hmm?”

With a head tilt, you asked again, “who is this Schmidt guy? Never got an answer earlier.”

Steve seemed a bit tense when you asked before answering you, “he’s a confidant to Hitler and closely affiliated with Hydra. Once we take down Schmidt, we get closer to taking down Hitler.”

Your eyes had widened during his short summary, “so you really been killin’ Nazis, Stevie?”

He huffed, “been trying too – mostly taking over Hydra bases. Buck was more the killing Nazi type.”

With a slight smile, you squeezed Steve’s hand, “sounds like our James.”

The rest of the ride was quiet, save for some mindless chatter over Peggy’s radio.

By the time you three got to Camp Lehigh, getting your identification was nothing out of the ordinary; however, being looked at with either such sorrow or surprise was a shock. You had assumed people knew about Bucky, but you never thought Bucky had told everyone about the girl from home, nor that they knew what she looked like. Tears flooded your eyes very quickly at the image of Bucky boasting about his Brooklyn girl and everything about her, and apparently, his words got all the way back to New Jersey.

Even when you got to the London Bunker, more dejected looks were given your way. Some sick part of you wished he hadn’t made you such a big deal, but if he were still alive, you’d be flustered. With subtle hands, you quietly put Bucky’s dog talks within your new army greens officer uniform. While you definitely were not an officer, Peggy had no problem lending you one of hers, telling you that if someone had a problem with it, take it up with her.

You clearly remembered her conversation as she dragged you into her tent, quickly shoveling through a trunk of hers, “are you alright wearing one of these? I have a few different sizes – whatever fits you.”

You accepted a green skirt of hers with a nod, along with a tan-colored blouse and a green jacket. Thankfully, it had no medals on it so you didn’t exactly feel as if you were impersonating a soldier.

You looked towards Peggy as she made her leave, “thank you, Agent Carter…You truly did not have to do this but – but I appreciate it.”

Peggy gave a soft smile as she opened the tent, “anything for Barnes’ girl.”

Right when she left, you sobbed for a good 20 minutes. You remember mumbling to yourself, “I hope I still am your best girl, Jamie.”

Over the next few days, you had quickly grown accustomed to the troops' fast pace and overall serious atmosphere, along with their Colonel. You would never admit it to the man, but Colonel Phillips scared you when you two had first met; you wondered if he had ever laughed in his entire life. And you definitely wouldn’t tell him this either, but you knew he was a big softie underneath that whole ‘I’m Colonel Phillips and you have to be intimidated by me’ attitude. Once you had arrived in London, you made it your mission to make the Colonel laugh, whether it be at your expense or someone else’s – but it took your mind off James; well, as much as it could.

One man who admired your mission and seemed to play along with it was Mr. Howard Stark; when the two of you weren’t messing around, history was being made, and changing the world for the better was your first priority.

Besides his cocky attitude, Howard had truly become one of your favorite people – besides Captain America himself, of course. When Steve had introduced you to the team focused on finding Schmidt and the rest of Hydra, Howard had taken to you liking a father hen, showing you his new tech and his favorite, the new vibranium shield he made for Cap. He was so ecstatic about showing a new face his greatest creation and how indestructible it was; as he told you, everyone else did not seem as impressed and he needed someone with a brain like yours to comprehend what he made.

While nobody else knew, he had also shown you the last remaining vial of the super-soldier serum Dr. Erskine had made and thus, what Howard had been trying to recreate. He had almost been successful but told you he did not want to use Erskine’s last vial on someone, in case it ever came to that. Instead, he wanted to try his own, one that would not affect one’s looks physically but included all the enhancements. Now that got you intrigued; you loved Steve, truly, but if you ever got the chance to take Stark’s serum and wanted a husband in the future, you did not want to look so…bulky.

The two of you worked closely together, using Stark brainpower and L/N design skills and expert eye to create the new symbol for Captain America.

With a pretty decent paint job on your part, both you and Howard took a step back from the upheld shield, looking over the new red, white and blue design, fit with a silver star. Tears filled your eyes but you refused to let them fall as Howard rested a hand on your back – your Stevie would be carrying that shield proudly very shortly.

Howard pulled you into a quick side hug, “Sergeant Barnes would be proud of you, kid. Look at you, designing Captain America’s new shield!”

With a soft laugh, you wiped your eyes, “I hope he would be.”

Before Howard stepped away to give you some space, you grabbed onto his arm, eyes darting towards the suitcase underneath his desk, “can I ask you something, Howard?”

Howard crossed his arms, “what’s goin’ on inside that head of yours, kiddo?”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, “listen, I know you’re gonna say no, but I just… I need to get this out.”

Howard noticed your serious tone and pulled you against a corner of the huge bunker that had been your home for the past couple of days, surrounded by books that you had read in record time, “go on, kid.”

You fumbled over your words, nails scratching against your skin, “do you think – do you think I could take the serum? Your recreation, of course – I saw your successful attempts and I want to take it. I’ve thought it over, truly, and it’s what I want. Ever since James – ever since James died, I’ve felt so lost and useless; I want to do something, something that James would be proud of. And I know you’re gonna say no, but Howard, I really need to do this, so please-“

Howard interrupted you, hand held up calmly, “let’s talk to Colonel Phillips, okay?”

Your eyes grew wide, “real-really? No immediate reprimanding?”

He looked at you with soft eyes, “I know what you’re feeling, y/n, and it’s not a good feeling. While I wish there was another solution other than you taking the serum, I – I’m not opposed to it. Maybe we need a sidekick.”

You gave a slight smile as he grinned back, “thank you, Howie.” He pinched your arm in response to his nickname, narrowing his eyes playfully.

The moment you asked Colonel Phillips for a private meeting with you, him, Howard, and Peggy, he already seemed on edge. Woke up on the wrong side of the cot, sour coffee, you weren’t sure – but you were sure that he was not going to be happy with your idea.

As expected, the meeting with Colonel Phillips was not exactly great; he may have thrown a fit and yelled at you for even suggesting such a thing. Okay, ouch, that stung – you genuinely thought it was a good idea.

You had interrupted during such fit, “sir, may I remind you that Steve Rogers had no prior fighting experience yet he got the super-soldier serum? I have the skills – well, some skills - the will to fight, and the…”

You stopped.

“I have a purpose, just like Steve,” you began once more, “Hydra took away the most important person in my life and I’ll be damned to hell if I’m not gonna do anything to stop them. So please, sir, let me do this.”

Peggy Carter stood beside Colonel Phillips, her lips twitching up in a slight smile, “you remind me of him. Of Barnes.” The Colonel grumbled.

You felt a shiver run down your spine, “I guess he rubbed off on me.”

Peggy looked to Colonel Phillips as he was deep in thought, until he spoke, “you talk to Rogers about this?”

You shook your head, “no, sir.”

Colonel Phillips crossed his arms, “I suggest you bring it to his attention before we make a final decision, l/n. Then, if we decide yes, we’re going to need to change the plan just a tad bit.”

With a nod, you stood up and walked out of the meeting room, hoping to find Steve around the corner somewhere; on your way out, you already heard Colonel Phillips grumbling about how it would be nice to have another super-soldier.

One of the Howling Commandos spoke up during your search for Steve, “he’s over at Crocker’s Folly. Bar right across the street from here, kid.” You thanked him and walked out of the site, spotting a very beat-down bar just across the street, surprisingly still standing.

Heading over, you had honestly no idea how to bring up the idea of you taking the serum to Steve; it definitely was no normal conversation. You knew he would say no, but you wanted to take it and be of use during the war and avenge Bucky in any way you could. Once inside, you heard a radio in the distance of the bar, unsure of what song was playing. Following the sound, broken glass and among other things crunched under your footsteps, letting Steve know someone was there.

Sitting at a table with a bottle of liquor and a glass by himself, your best friend turned around and glanced at you, pulling up a chair. You gave a small smile, finding the seat right across from him, “are you okay?”

Steve shrugged, “that Dr. Erskine said the serum wouldn’t just affect my muscles, it would affect my cells. Create a protective system of regeneration and healing… which means uh.. –“

“You can’t get drunk.”

Steve shot you a look, “when you’d get so smart?”

You kicked his foot with a chuckle, “when I started hangin’ out with Howard.”

He gave a sad smile as tears flooded his eyes, “I am so sorry, y/n.”

You choked back a sob, eyes filling with tears, “it wasn’t your fault, Stevie. I know that you did everything you could.”

Steve’s eyes were brimmed red, “how are you – how are you staying so strong?”

Clearing your throat of the sob making its way up, you licked your lips, “I feel like I’ve cried too many tears, Steve. I want to cry more, my god I do, but I know he wouldn’t want that.”

Steve nodded, “’m sorry to bring him up, I just…” he mumbled, “I’m going to kill Schmidt and all of Hydra if it’s the last thing ‘m gonna do, y/n.” His hand had curled into a fist and you felt the anger radiating off of him.

You grasped his hand, softly uncurling it, “I actually wanted to talk to you about something, pertaining Schmidt.”

Steve let out a grumble, taking one last sip of his drink, “everything okay?”

You nodded, “I – I’m okay. But Howard…he has a remaining vial of the serum from Dr. Erskine and has even recreated it himself. I talked to Peggy and Colonel Phillips and I’m going to take it, the recreation.”

Steve’s eyes shot up to yours, “Y/N, I can’t – I can’t let you do that. It’s too dangerous and I promised –“

“Steve,” you stopped him, “I know you promised Bucky that you would look out for me. I promised him that about you, too. But I want to do this. It’s my decision and I’m hoping you’ll let me do this for myself and Buck.”

The man across from you looked down at his glass for a long while before he looked you in the eyes with a grin, “’gonna pretend I can get drunk and forget why I even agreed.”

A small smile formed on your lips as you reached over, squeezing his hand, “thank you, Stevie. Now c’mon, we got a serum to inject and plans to tweak.”

When the two of you reached the bunker once again, you nodded to Howard and he let out a breath. He was not exactly looking forward to this, injecting you with the serum, but it’s what you wanted. Word quickly got to Colonel Phillips who seemed a bit relieved himself, glad there were no tantrums thrown – much like his.

Down the many halls of the bunker, Howard, Peggy, and a few nurses prepared an operation room, a bed centered in the middle of the room as lights displayed it. Once you were injected, you would need a few moments to recollect yourself – both of them knew this.

You, Colonel Phillips, and Steve stood outside the operation room, looking in as Howard laid out the serum and sedation if needed. The Colonel spoke up first, looking down at you, “you certain about this? There’s no guarantee you’ll live.”

You nodded, “I’m aware, Colonel. But I’ve thought it through and it’s what I want.”

Steve looked to you as the Colonel looked on, “you yell for me if you need me, okay? I’m right outside.” You gave him a small smile before you headed inside per Howard’s direction.

Steve stopped you once more, “and y/n?”

You turned around to look at him as he continued, “you’re a good person. Maybe not a perfect soldier yet, but a good person.”

You smiled at Steve, “looks like I’ll need you as my teacher once I become your sidekick, Stevie.” You both let out a chuckle.

Nurses stood behind the two tables surrounding the cot you were instructed to lay on, taking off your shirt and tossing it into Peggy’s arms, letting out a whistle, immediately calming your nerves. You flashed her a smile which she returned.

Bright lights shining onto your body – now only clad in a bra and some army green cargo pants – your gaze shifted to Howard. He looked albeit nervous but once he caught your eye, all nerves disappeared, “how ya feelin’ kid?”

You chuckled, “like I’m about to be turned into a super-soldier.”

Howard’s shoulders shook with a slight laugh, “that’s nuts – it’s almost as if I’m administering said serum. I’m gonna inject you with some penicillin, okay?”

You nodded your head, looking towards the window where you saw Steve looking way too tense. With a smile, you gave him a thumbs up in which he chuckled at, shaking his head. Beside him stood the Colonel who looked nervous himself, but with a blow-kiss, you saw him roll his eyes and turn back into your stern Colonel Phillips.

Howard spoke up, grabbing your attention, “now, y/n, your transformation will be a bit different from Steve’s, but the outcome should be the same – just no outer physical changes, as I mentioned. No need for nerves. You ready?”

You nodded, and with a deep breath, you felt the sharp needle penetrate your skin, injecting you with the serum. As the serum coursed through your veins, your skin felt as if it were on fire, your breaths growing quicker and sweat already forming on your skin. Howard noticed your breaths, “deep breaths, kid, don’t rush the process. You got this. How ya feelin’?”

You grunted, “burning – hot but cold. Freezer burn.”

Howard grew pale, somehow making sense of your words, “okay, y/n, you gotta fight this. Don’t let the serum override your body – you gotta let it combine with your cells. C’mon, kid!” Peggy’s grip tightened on your shirt as she looked on, whispering words of encouragement.

Outside, Steve and Colonel Phillips began pacing, the Colonel glaring through the window, telling himself that he could telepathically communicate with you and force you to live through this. Steve bit his thumb, growing more and more anxious by the second.

Your body had now started to sweat profusely, the shine adding itself to your figure as you breathed heavier, a gasp and a sharp scream leaving your lips. Steve immediately ran in, holding your hand, “y/n, come on, please! Fight this – don’t give up, please. I – I need you, we all do.”

In a split second, your eyes opened, meeting Steve’s for a split second before you let out another yell, eyes squeezing shut once more, “Steve! It hurts – it hurts!”

Your whole body felt as if it were on fire yet hypothermic, your chest feeling so heavy that it was difficult to breathe. Every cell in your body felt as if it were being torn apart and being put back together again; you talked to yourself in your head, “how the hell did Steve do this?”

Steve ran a hand over your now-damp hair, “I know, I know, but you got this, y/n. Once you beat this, we’ll go and kill those sonsabitches at Hydra, you hear me? You gotta beat this.”

Over time, which honestly felt like hours, your body slowly started to welcome the serum and new changes within your body, your breathing returning to normal and sweat disappearing onto the cot below you, body returning to normal temperature. With only a slightly bloody nose, you felt…good. Resting against the cot, you let out a sigh, eyes fluttering.

Howard hooked an IV up to your arm, returning the liquids you had sweat out, pushing your shoulder lightly, “’gotta talk to me, kid.”

You grumbled, “’m tired…but feel like I could run a marathon.”

Steve’s hand squeezed yours as he let out a laugh, looking up to the ceiling, “that’s your girl, Barnes. You did great, y/n – you did great.”

Eyes still shut, you hummed, “mmm…do I have abs of steel now?”

Steve chuckled, “would it make you feel better if I said yes?”

You nodded your head, a dopey smile on your face. Steve continued, “I wouldn’t want to fight you in the ring, bug.”

Slowly but surely, you opened your eyes, adjusting to the way your body felt and sensed everything around you. With a grunt, you rubbed your eyes, glancing at your hands – hmm, they looked the same?

Howard noticed your confusion, “Remember what I said, kid? No outer physical changes, but you got all the upgrades Rogers has. Better looking, obviously,” you let out a soft laugh, “just not as bulky.”

With a hum, you sat up, fighting off Steve and Howard’s mother hen tendencies, “’mentioned that earlier…bulky. ‘m fine, by the way – stop worryin’.”

Slowly getting off the cot, you walked around the room, stretching your legs and your whole body. Everything felt different but good; it’s like your senses and every cell within your body were heightened. “It felt cold,” you mentioned to Howard, “the serum.”

He nodded, “as opposed to the vita-rays, we had to keep it in cold storage. Easier that way.”

You hummed, and while turning around in the small room, your eyes met Steve’s once more, “well Captain, what now?”

Honeybee Taglist:

@clownerlyluv @ginger-swag-rapunzel

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bluemoonnightmare · 3 years ago

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So the ending to 'Rise of the Titans' was the biggest slap in the face fandom wide. It was such a stupid goddamn decision to write it the way they did, but seeing as I'm spiteful and there are already a bunch of amazing fix-it-fics in the making: I would like to propose something slightly different.

A fic where we as the audience follow the Story EXCLUSIVELY through Toby's POV through the seasons even though Jim from the TOA Universe still has his memories. If this is a confusing way to put it, I'll try and make more sense with the fic summary:

Tobias Domzalaki is an ordinary kid with a cat obsessed Nana busy helping his best friend who yearns to have more adventure in his life. As it happens, Toby gets stuck with the after affects of his best friend's wish when he finds a magic amulet under a bridge calling to him. With that discovery, Toby finds himself as the next Trollhunter, the champion of the troll world. Dragging with him his reluctant yet supportive best friend, Jim Lake Jr, Toby discovers the world of Trollmarket where he further unravels the mysteries and past of his new amulet.

The fic would follow the formula of four seasons, (it would only cover Trollhunters so far as I have planned) except the first season would be shorter because Angor Rot would not appear.

In season One: Tony would find the amulet, have to fight Bular and he would only find out about Jim and the past timeline he comes from during the FINALE Of the first season. This is the season where it hints that Jim knows more than he lets on. But because Jim has to carry his burdens alone, he never explicitly tries to alter what Toby does or what decisions he makes. He does however tell Draal, Claire and Strickler about his past on three separate occasions, one of which is shown to the audience while the other two are not. Strickler also comes to the good side towards the end of this season. This is the only season I have episodes or Synopsis thought through.

In season Two: We would see Jim and Toby building up their relationship again as Toby learns who his best friend actually is and what he's been through. It would still include the search for the Triumbric Stones, except there would be more emphasis on Jim and Claire finding powers and making them their own. Claire will not have the shadow staff. We also see how The Janice Order react to Strickler's betrayal and how the rest of the cast learn about Jim's past. The season ends with the main cast entering the dark lands.

These are the only two seasons I have even given thought to yet, but for the third season, that includes Gunmar's escape, Eli and Steve's development and the Losses of Vendall and Draal, i have a brief idea of what it is I want to do.

Season 1 of Trollhunters: Fables of Arcadia.

Becoming Part 1 ( On an average day Toby wakes up to find his best friend acting strange and a magical amulet under a bridge. Amazed at his luck, Toby is thrilled to become the new Trollhunter.)

Becoming Part 2 ( when faced with the dangerous adversary Bular, Toby begins to feel as though he's bitten off more than he can chew.)

A rock and a hard place ( Toby deals with a resigned Jim and resentful Trolls as he begins his extensive training.)

Gnome yourself (While dealing with pesky Gnomes, Toby tries to help out Jim with Claire, and in doing so sets off Steve - a notorious bully.)

Waka Chaka (During a field trip to a museum Toby tries to apologize to Jim while juggling the knowledge that the museum curator has a surprising secret.)

Fight, Flight or Vendall (Jim helps Toby deal with the aftermath of his loss against Draal and makes an unlikely friend in Draal while doing so, leaving Toby to feel helpless after a scolding from Vendall.)

To catch a changeling ( Eager to prove himself to Vendall and the others, Toby tries to unmask the changelings living amongst them, while Jim gets closer to Claire.)

Adventures in Trollnapping ( While Jim is training and researching into the museum and it's curator - Toby tries to find out if Claire's brother is a changeling through strange means causing Tensions with Claire.)

Forget me not (Forgetting that it's Jim's birthday due to his new responsibilities, Tony grows nervous when Jim explains that he'd seen a large winged creature immune to the sun on his roof.)

Fools errand ( Knowing more than he's willing to share, Jim invites Toby to spy on his mom and Strickler during a date in the hopes of clueing him in.)

Recipe for disaster ( Overjoyed that his suspicions are correct, Tony goes to examine Strickler's office discovering a small portal to the Darklands while Jim takes the opportunity to level with Stickler.)

Crossing the Bridge ( Suspicious about Stickler's sudden change in motives, Toby questions Jim about how he knows Stickler can be trusted.)

Claire and the Present Danger ( With the play drawing closer, Jim and Toby go to explain what has happened to Claire in hopes of getting her help. Jim shares more with Claire after Toby leaves, leading the audience to a shocking Revelation about his character.)

The battle of two bridges ( Bular hunts Strickler and Baits the Trollhunters to the Killahead bridge resulting in the final battle, Where Toby finally proves he is a competent trollhunter.)

Two truths and a Lie ( With the battle finally over, and the play coming to an end, Toby confronts Jim once and for all about his behaviour and his knowledge - discovering what the audience already knows about what he's been hiding for so long.)

If you have any sort of suggestions or any ideas to add on feel free! This is an incredibly long post, so I apologize. there's a chance that I may begin writing this, we'll see with what time and motivation I have.

#tales of arcadia #jim lake jr #fix it au #toby domzalski #claire nunez #trollhunters #trollhunters au #trollhunters draal #toa #it might happen it might not #depends if my friend likes the idea honestly #if anyone wants to co-write this or can help me lmk

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 4 years ago

Note

What if some Cullen stayed behind on a new moon to be with Bella? How do you think the story would have occurred?

They wouldn’t.

Remember, we see the series from Bella’s perspective. We get a front row view to her devastation at being left behind, her depression, and the fact that Bella is put into more danger because of it and ultimately the Cullens come back.

At the end of New Moon, the reader goes, “What was the point of this damn novel? Why even have them leave in the first place if they just come back?!” Well, it was to show that Edward and Bella can’t live without each other, introduce the wolves without the Cullens getting in the way, and start the Volturi plot threads.

Regardless, a lot of blame falls on the Cullens for daring to leave in the first place. Someone should have put their foot down and demanded to stay (several did but they ended up leaving anyway). However, from their perspective, I don’t think they necessarily made the wrong choice

Why The Cullens Had Good Reason to Leave in New Moon

They’d been living in the precarious world for months now where a human is in on the secret, really shouldn’t be in on the secret, just waiting for something to happen.

Edward plays human boyfriend, knowing that he’ll one day abandon her (he plans it, even, from the moment he first sneaks into her bedroom). He has no intention of turning her into a vampire.

Which means, for the rest of them, walking on eggshells trying and failing to think what happens next. Because this is not sustainable.

Eventually, the Cullens will need to move. It’ll be a while yet, Carlisle will probably spend another few years as a doctor in Forks while the “children” go to university somewhere. But eventually, one day, they will leave the area.

If Bella’s human, she’s not coming with them.

And if she does come with them... Bella will be this sole aging human living with immortal creatures. She can’t do the high school routine with Edward very long, would have to find her own thing to do while somehow still moving with this family, and it wouldn’t be sustainable. Bella would live a very miserable life that’s not all that different from if they had never killed James in Phoenix (on the run moving from city to city, protecting this secret from anyone who might ask, having to hide her relationship with Edward if they even manage to keep that alive).

It would be a miserable life and not good for her. Even Bella, the teenager who wants to be with them forever, sees that. She can’t stay with Edward and be human, if she’s joining the Cullens then she has to be turned.

Adding to this, hanging around Bella is very dangerous. There’s a reason their worlds are separate. Jasper might be the one who cracks first, but something was going to happen one of those days. That papercut could have very easily been Edward. Bella could accidentally scrape herself in front of a hungry Alice. Bella helping Esme in the kitchen might accidentally cut herself. Every time Bella spends any time in their vicinity, she’s playing Russian Roulette.

She just happens to lose at her own birthday party.

Jasper’s attack, and every single member of the family besides Carlisle having to vacate the house, is a wake up call that if Bella’s staying human then this isn’t going to work.

Leaving in New Moon is their last chance to give Bella a human life and future. Bella’s young, she’ll move on and make friends and live an ordinary life in the ordinary human world. I do think, for all of the Cullens, none of them realize the extent of her depression and she staked all her self-worth on the aliens who she only met a few months ago and who barely even know her.

And that’s important and I think people forget that, Bella barely knows these people and they know even less about her.

Bella spends her time hanging around Edward and maybe Alice.

She has had one conversation with Carlisle, the night he stitches her up no less, never seems to talk to Esme at all, barely even sees Jasper, Rosalie barely knows her, and for all Emmett thinks she’s hilarious that’s because she’s just Clumsy Human (TM).

None of them have any personal attachment to her.

Then you have Edward throwing a fit. Yes, Alice is adamantly against doing this, thinks it will be a disaster, but Edward’s the one they’re going to live with. More, Edward does have a point, this isn’t sustainable, Bella has no idea what she’s getting into, and if she can live a human life with her human family then she probably should.

Little did they know that they were leaving her to the mercy of Victoria and Laurent, relying on the protection of the shapeshifters who might unintentionally maul her at any moment, or that she’d become mired in depression and eventually attempt suicide.

Well, Alice knew, but her visions are also flighty things that while holding true for a moment don’t necessary hold true for years.

So, I can see why they leave, and why characters who are dubious about it are convinced to leave.

For what it’s worth, I also think they thought Edward’s breakup with Bella was an amenable thing where he logically told her why he was doing this.

Edward, remember, does not ask Rosalie or Emmett’s assistance in stealing the stereo out of Bella’s car. He didn’t tell them about stealing her photos and memorabilia and sticking it under the floorboards. Given Edward’s behavior in Midnight Sun, I’m sure he didn’t tell them that what he actually said to her was that she was a distraction and he’d gotten bored. Given that he had a very reasonable explanation to break up with her, I’m a vampire and you’re human and this isn’t working out, I’m sure they thought he was mature and reasonable about it.

He wasn’t.

Who Would Even Stay?

More, if anyone stayed, then you know Edward would be staying with them. Glaring at them constantly for ruining his leaving town plan. HOW DARE THEY.

And is Emmett really going to bail on Rose so he can hang out with Edward’s weird squishy girlfriend? Carlisle tell the family to go on ahead without him, he’ll catch up, while he sits there awkwardly with Bella and says “Sorry about all of this.” Rosalie, who loathes Bella, sticking around just to spite Edward. Esme staying with Bella and infuriating Edward and causing him pain (Edward’s Esme’s basically highest priority, she’d never do this). Jasper hanging around the girl he just tried to eat?

I’d say Alice is your best bet except... This isn’t the meta for it, but throughout the series it’s clear for all that Alice likes Bella, she likes Edward a lot more. Bella is nice, but Alice has her priorities in order and is more than okay with the significant odds of Bella dying horrifically if it means everything might work out the way she wants it to.

So, given that hanging around Bella would cause a rift with Edward, she’s not going to do it. Also, I’m sure the way she sees it, it’s best to get this out of the way now so that Edward learns his lesson.

And what would they even do then? If Carlisle’s family has moved then he can’t stick around town for long (maybe the premise is they moved on ahead of him to set up the house but that will only last so long). If it’s any of the “kids” they have to hide in the bushes all day as the family will have left them behind. If it’s Esme, why didn’t she go with her family and her kids to the new city?

So it’d just be them hanging around, doing nothing to... make Bella feel better? When it’s really Edward who she wants to see rather than rando Cullen she barely knows hanging out in her yard?

Basically, I can’t see a single one of them staying behind.

But if Someone Did Stay

Then, as I said, Edward would stay too.

And Edward would never forgive them for this. They would be dead to him, forever. I can imagine, in his upset rage and helplessness, Edward would say even worse things to Bella to make it clear the entire family should leave.

It’d be a shit show all around.

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scrunchyharry · 4 years ago

Text

here is a masterpost of all of my fics in chronological order of publication

✨ I roll and I roll, ‘til I change my luck

explicit | 8,295 words

“They’re not my best pictures.”

“I wouldn’t say that, I think you look quite good being manhandled by a bigger man.”

Louis chokes on his sip of hot chocolate, feeling it burn its way down his throat. He coughs a few times and then clears his throat. “I’m sorry?!”

“You heard me. You should do it more often, it might make you more humble. Maybe you’ll learn to respect people.” Or Louis is a bored, rich kid whose latest stunt got him arrested and forced to attend a fundraiser at an ice rink, Zayn is his unlucky partner in crime, Harry is the cute hospital volunteer who is having none of his attitude, Niall is the worst DJ in the world, and Liam is Leslie Knope.

✨ lead me out on the moonlight floor

explicit | 12,758 words

In all honesty, Harry was long forgotten, cast aside by a dimpled stranger and too much champagne. He was almost glad, now, that Harry hadn’t come, because he wouldn’t have met this stranger, this tall man who could make his heart flutter with a single glance.

Victorian!AU where Louis is a wealthy lord throwing a masquerade ball for his birthday and Harry is a toymaker who's only confident when he's wearing a mask.

✨ electing strange perfections

explicit | 10 chapters | 84,757 words

Back for the summer from university, 19-year-old Louis is faced with a massive problem: their new gardener is quite possibly the most gorgeous man he's ever met. Over the course of the summer, Louis and a 25-year-old Harry will learn that love can be found where you least expect it.

✨ scintillating

explicit | 23 chapters | 263,706 words

When Harry and Louis meet in Disney World during their family’s holiday, it’s love at first sight. Back in England, they fight against the distance to stay together, to make it work. When Harry signs up for The X-Factor, though, the precarious balance they’ve built is compromised.

Or the one where they fall in love, Harry wins the X-Factor, and everything goes to hell.

✨ taken by the wind

teen and up | 12,040 words

When he decided to move to London with his sister, Harry thought he would finally get to learn how to control his magic. He couldn't possibly have predicted that he would fall for her neighbour.

Or the one where Harry is a clumsy witch and Louis is making everything worse just by existing.

✨ signs and wonders

explicit | 29,005 words

On the surface, it looks like Louis Tomlinson has the perfect life; after all, he has the whole package: a white picket fence house (well, his doesn’t technically have a white picket fence, but work with him), a wife, a daughter and a dog. He has it all and he’s not even 30, yet.

On the surface, he could be the happiest man in the world.

The thing is, he never wanted this life. There was this boy, see, this Harry Styles, whose arrival made Louis question everything he thought he knew about himself. Before Louis could pursue it, though, before he could be brave and ask the boy out, one moment of bad luck on prom night, one single lapse of judgment, shaped his life in a way he never would have chosen. Between doing the right thing or turning into his own absent father, he knew what he had to do, even if it meant burying his dreams under the weight of a premature adulthood.

That is, until he receives an invitation for his school’s ten year reunion and sees that Harry will attend.

Could it be his second chance at happiness? At what cost?

✨ fondre ton absence

teens and up | 41,315 words

Harry had never really given much thought to the future. He preferred to let life steer him forward and to follow in the footsteps of Louis, his best friend from as far as his memory went, his lover, his everything. Louis knew better than he did what was good for him.

It changed drastically when Louis was ripped away from him, drafted and sent to the front to fight in a war that Harry had always been sure would never reach him. Too young and too sickly to follow, Harry was left on his own for the first time in his life.

When he thought things could not possibly get worse, Louis went missing at the Somme and was declared dead. While everyone buried and mourned him, Harry never moved on. If Louis were dead, he was sure that he would know it. Their lives were too entwined, he would know if half of his heart had died.

Determined to find Louis, Harry did everything he could in his quest to be reunited with him, except prepare for the state Louis might be in.

He did not prepare for the harsh truth he would have to face: was love possible without memories?

✨ the sanctity of patience

teens and up | 22,521 words

When young Lord Harry was chosen by King Louis of Bavaria to become his husband and prince consort, Harry thought all of his dreams had come through. His illusions came crashing down when he understood it meant living in isolation in the alpine castle of Neuschwanstein with a husband who turned out to be far from what he had hoped for.

His illusions vanished, Harry will have learn to appreciate what has and even, perhaps, fall in love with his imperfect husband and his castle.

✨ tempests of dust

explicit | 30,797 words

Louis lived an ordinary life, albeit in an extraordinary place. His family, alongside many others, were mandated to maintain the fortress of Bourbon-l’Archambault, one of the many castles belonging to the crown of France. It was thankless work, but it was a roof over their heads and a quiet, steady life. For all that he knew, the Crown had forgotten Bourbon-l’Archambault even existed, which suited him quite well.

That was until the Dauphin, Prince Harry, came to stay for a summer and decided that he would experience the life of a peasant, for his own personal growth, without any regards to how it would affect others. After a summer spent together, the thought of parting ways was too much to bear and they struck a deal: Louis would pretend to be a duke at the court of Versailles for a season: if after three months, he was miserable, Harry would let him return to his former life without making a fuss.

Did they really think it would be that simple?

✨ i can’t hurt you anymore

mature | 666 words

There was a boy who lived in the closet of Harry’s new house. Louis, he was called, and he was there when Harry’s family moved in, watching timidly as Harry unpacked his boxes, and when Harry asked if he wanted to help, he said he could not touch anything.

I’m Louis, he said, and we can be friends and I will never leave you if you promise to be with me forever.

✨ as in olden days

teens and up | 18,430 words

When his father insisted the entire family spend Christmas abroad in one of his new investments, Harry dreaded the prospect of being trapped for weeks in the biting Canadian cold, so far away from the roaring excitement of his London life. As he crossed half of the world to be buried under a thick blanket of snow, he never imagined he would meet a charming bellhop who would do his best to keep him warm.

#my fics #larry fics #tracksintheam

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beautifulterriblequeen · 4 years ago

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Full circle

Thinking about distance and rituals and cycles today and I had a fun headcanon appear, followed by a cracking good discovery about Rayla.

So, when Ethari enchanted the assassins’ lotuses, it was the night of a full moon.

I’m guessing that Ethari used the extra power of the full moon to help him out with the lotus enchantments. Plus, the lotuses represent life, and that’s very full moon.

But the next full moon, the assassin squad is in Katolis, doing stabby things.

So did they take a whole month to get there, or what?

My headcanon was this: assassins leave the Silvergrove on new moon nights when they head out for a mission. And they can’t come back in to the village until the next new moon night at the earliest.

Assassins are fast, when they’re not shepherding young human princes around. By the time the full moon occurs two weeks after they left home, they can be in place and ready to take their target--or maybe they’ll need to travel much farther and add a whole extra moon cycle on to their travels. But however long it takes them, it seems like a Moonshadow elf thing that they have to wait for the moon’s cycle to roll all the way around to new again before they can come home and be properly done with their mission.

New moons are when Moonshadow elves have the weakest connection to the moon. Their power has dwindled and they have to accept their own weakness. What a good time to have some kind of ritual that embraces the death side of Moonshadow culture--their dark side, their duty to go take a life--and sends them out into the night. It’s sad and contemplative and full of darkness and shadow. Like they have been ritually separated from the life of their village, as if they are partway dead until they can return.

The whole time they’re away, their lotus takes their place in the village, as their life. So in a way they aren’t truly gone from those who remain behind. Their life is still with their loved ones, and they can pretend that everything is fine.

And when an assassin returns home, having completed their dark and sacred duty to take out a dangerous enemy of Xadia, then it is that dark side of them that “dies” upon returning within the village border. There’s another ritual to mark this moment of death and rebirth back into the fold, and I have a super fun idea for it!

Hey, I can like wet elves and have a perfectly logical worldbuilding headcanon at the same time, okay. Skills.

The ritual upon returning to the village involves the assassin performing a cleansing ritual in the pool where their lotus is. Yes, they hop right in. Maybe they’re wearing something, maybe not. Everyone is born naked, you know. Just saying, maybe they take that rebirth thing really seriously.

But see, here’s the really cool part! There’s a full circle to be completed with the lotus itself. Ethari gives the assassin their lotus, and at the moment they touch it, its life spell activates. So the opposite of that may complete the spell: the assassin has to retrieve their own lotus flower from the pool and hand it back to Ethari. And the moment he touches it, the crystal light winks out and the lotus goes dark. Its job is done, its assassin home and safe.

And then the assassin’s family swoops them into a big fluffy robe to dry off and has plenty of soft time together because they’ve missed their family member for at least the previous month straight.

It feels like Moonshadow balance for an assassin to ritually pass into the realm of the dead to go on a mission, and then cleanse themselves of their deed in order to return to ordinary life in the village. It also feels like having to do that over and over--missing full months of your home life at a time--would absolutely cause the assassins to hold themselves at arm’s length from most everyone else. It’s gotta hurt to lose time like that, but if you’re not too close to all that bright life, it hurts less.

My headcanon has a coda with a fun twist I didn’t expect: real-world moon support. Rayla doesn’t like water, and she didn’t so much as touch the ritual pool’s water when she came home. But she did throw rocks into it. And Ethari’s sketch seems to show him wanting to reach out for Runaan’s lotus, but hesitating, as if he is forbidden from doing so.

Which is interesting, considering he’s the ritual leader! So perhaps the only person who can touch a lotus is the assassin for whom it’s meant--as long as there is a lotus floating, that is. And Ethari has multiple reasons to be stubborn about Rayla’s lotus. So, as long as Rayla’s lotus remains afloat, maybe no one but Rayla can enter the pool, and Runaan’s half-sunken lotus will remain hidden.

Which brings me to this gem:

A wordless tweet that TDP posted six days after Callum’s birthday--but months before TTM was released, so no one knew what possible significance it might hold, beyond referencing the lost assassins who were given names on the same day. July 21 was a random day for naming assassins. Possibly far less random in the context of travel time, Rayla’s TTM mission, and completing an assassin ritual with a lotus.

Rayla hates water. But if this lotus belongs to anyone at all on her squad, then she likely had to get it out of the pool herself when she visited Ethari again--presumably to tell him that she doesn’t think Runaan is dead dead because she sort of yeeted into the Moon Nexus and couldn’t find him.

I’ve posted about this before, this tweet and its timey wimey connection to TTM. But this is the part I just discovered today: super coincidentally, the new moon in July 2020, the month this tweet was posted, was on the night of the 20th.

So on the morning of the 21st, maybe Rayla can’t stop staring at the lotus she fished up the night before. Did she even sleep? Poor kid.

The new moon means many things to Moonshadow elves. But I like to think that, as any ritual Rayla may have completed with Ethari drew to a close and they discovered to their amazement that among the fallen lotuses was one whose crystal was still winking brightly, the new moon meant more than simply welcoming Rayla back to the land of the living. More than perhaps the lifting of her ghosting spell, even. This new moon meant hope. A second chance. For Rayla, and for Runaan, and through them, for all of the Silvergrove.

Things went very dark for Rayla during the moon cycles she was away from home. She may have left on a new moon, and it seems likely that she returned on or near one, feeling like a failure all over again, but still needing to see Ethari, to tell him what she had learned--or hadn’t. But during that new moon ritual, in the darkest of dark moments, Rayla finally got to see a sliver of hope in her own sky, and that’s more than she’s had in regards to her home situation in months.

I hope that S4 gives us a more hopeful, less alone Rayla!

#tdp headcanons #tdp theory #tdp speculation #tdp meta #rayla #ethari #runaan #moonfam #i'm back on my bullshit #moonshadow elves #TTM #tdp analysis

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quazartranslates · 3 years ago

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Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH32

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

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Chapter 32: Star Death Reality Show (XV)

"Genocide Day", just hearing this name made one feel panic, as if they were being driven to the slaughterhouse, shaking in the face of death.

"What is... Genocide Day?" Qi Leren was infected by He Yi's current solemn expression, and right now he was as nervous as he was, but he was obviously in a much better state than He Yi. He remembered to turn on the camera.

"Judging by the amphioctopus’s nature, this is about to happen, and I happen to know something. At first, I didn't think... The glowing stone was... It was a dormant octopus egg... It shouldn't be, it's impossible, how could it be... I mean, they’ve been extinct for hundreds of years. Most of the data of amphioctopuses focuses on their parasitic nature and the way the amphioctopuses spread between hosts, there’s seldom mention of what form they take in the dormant period. Their vitality is very tenacious, and if they sense that none of their common prey is active, they can go into a dormant state that can last for hundreds of years! What kind of monster have we released!" He Yi put his hand over his forehead, and his voice was hoarse.

"Would you like some water?" Qi Leren could see that his current state wasn’t good. It could be guessed that he hadn't eaten since entering this underground laboratory, and there were no clean water sources here.

At the beginning, he had felt that He Yi was like Su He, but now it seemed that they were very different. At least, He Yi doesn't have the calm and faint superiority in his stature. He was just an ordinary person, who would be scared and afraid like an ordinary person.

Stripped of the coat of a peaceful environment, he was just a panicked human being under his skin.

It seemed that He Yi had not been parasitized. Otherwise, he would have had the chance to kill him, or at least control him.

"Do you have any?" He Yi asked happily.

Dr. Lu had found two bags when collecting materials, one of which had been given to Qi Leren. Qi Leren had put in it some compressed food and a small bottle of water in a special thermos to prevent freezing. After all, there were cameras everywhere. He couldn't take them out of thin air from the item bar, so he had simply prepared a little, which came in handy now.

After receiving the food and water, He Yi took a few mouthfuls, took a few bites of compressed food, and handed it back with pain and patience: "Put it away, otherwise I can't help but eat it."

Qi Leren generously said: "You eat, I’m not hungry."

He Yi gave him a complicated look: "Save it, we have to prepare for the worst. The spaceship won’t return to this planet until… I don't know which day. We should count on this until then. Believe me, this is the safest way."

"No, we have to find a way out and tell the people outside!" Qi Leren flatly rejected He Yi's proposal.

"You can't get out. Even since I found that the standby power here was turned on, the automatic defense system here also started. There are laser traps at the exits... How did you get in?" He Yi suddenly remembered this question and looked at him with an expression of surprise.

Qi Leren hadn't understood why the electronic lock on the iron door in Jing Siyu’s basement was electrified—in fact, it hadn't been electrified the whole time, the power had only been turned on after He Yi had mistakenly revealed the corridor into the underground research institute.

"I have better reflexes than most people," Qi Leren lied without changing his face.

He Yi made a face of "Are you kidding?"

"My companion and I found the ID card, unlocked the electronic lock, and encountered some danger after entering the laser corridor. Fortunately, my reaction time was quick enough," Qi Leren said.

He Yi was silent for a while, and looked at Qi Leren with suspicious and inquiring eyes. After careful observation, he seemed to have a trace of fear in his expression: "Who on earth are you?"

Qi Leren couldn't explain.

"Are you from the military? What do you know?" He Yi's voice had an uncontrollable panic.

Qi Leren looked at him inexplicably.

"Did you know the octopus would be here?" He Yi asked nervously.

"You’re mistaken, I really am just the lead singer of a band." Qi Leren patted He Yi on the shoulder calmly and He Yi trembled with fear. "Well, don't be too nervous. It's not impossible for us to beat the amphioctopus. We won't die like the people on this planet."

He Yi looked at him with an expression that was like he had cursed him severely just now.

"Er... What are your plans now?" Qi Leren tried to forget that he had just raised a flag.

"If we stay here, we can avoid Genocide Day. Our situation here is separate from the outside world because of the long distance, so we need to wait a few more days, and when the army arrives, we will be rescued. If we go out and fight rashly and without thinking, the final result may be that we’re parasitized or killed... Do you really want to do that?" He Yi asked.

"My friends are still outside, they know nothing about the situation," Qi Leren said.

He Yi closed his eyes and whispered, "You are not the saviour."

"I know."

"You can't save everyone."

"I know."

"And you’re likely to die."

"I know all this."

He Yi looked at him: "Then why do you want to do this?"

Qi Leren was silent for a long time. For the task requirements, he had to go out to kill the octopus to earn more survival time. What's more, Dr. Lu and Du Yue were outside, so he had to bring back the information about the octopus. Even if he didn't consider these, he had to consider those innocent NPCs. Although he wouldn't sacrifice his life in order to save them, he had chosen to help them as much as possible, even if he didn't know what these NPCs were.

He had died many times and knew how terrible death was, so he was even more reluctant to see someone else die, even if it was just an NPC.

He Yi was still looking at him. Qi Leren realized that he had been thinking for too long, but he couldn't give a convincing answer. He felt that saying the truth would be a bit nauseating, so he responded to him with a saint-like smile: "Because I want to get the Best of the Day, one million dollars."

He Yi: "..............."

He Yi didn't seem to want to dwell on this problem anymore. After his mood stabilized, he told Qi Leren what had happened between him and Mark when he’d returned to the basement of Jing Siyu’s house with the axe.

"Mark's eyes began to bleed. I thought he had hit his head and caused intracranial hemorrhaging. He was scared to death. After all, we don't have any medical equipment. If the situation was serious, he would die. But soon, I found that something was wrong. Mark's eyes turned white, and he was convulsing like crazy. After about half a minute, he returned to normal and woke up. I asked him what was wrong. He didn't answer me. He looked at me with a strange look... " As He Yi recalled that look, his body shivered unconsciously." It was a kind of... waking up from hibernation. A monster's eyes."

Qi Leren’s back suddenly felt cold.

"The reason why the octopus can multiply on such a large scale anywhere in the universe is that once they parasitize intelligent creatures, they will first paralyze the brain of the host and acquire all the knowledge of the individual, including common sense, at an alarming rate. The consciousness of the host itself cannot compete with it. The terrible thing about it is that once it begins to parasitize, it learns to disguise itself. It will follow this individual's way of thinking, tone of speech, walking posture, and even micro-expressions... Only it knows that this is imitation, and everyone will think that this is the host itself."

"What about Mark?"

"There’s a process in the octopus’s parasitism. As I said just now, after entering the human body, it will paralyze the host's brain first, and over the next eight to ten hours, it will madly capture the host's body. At that time, there will be a short period of strangeness, and Mark's eyes bled during this period. Next, the amphioctopus completely occupies his brain, entrenched in it. After more than 20 hours after entering the body, the amphioctopus will develop from larva to a mature body and will begin to replicate itself. Mark was the first infected person, and the infection time was roughly before midnight on the first day..."

He Yi's words reminded Qi Leren of another thing. He asked, "What did you want to say to me when we were waiting for Mark outside Annie's house?"

He Yi gave a wry smile: "I want to say that on the first night, I saw Mark and Annie go to the church. And Janet and Alex, they’re dating... It’s too late to say this now."

Qi Leren nodded: "Go on."

"I had seen his eyes bleeding. At that time, he had already been captured by the octopus... He held me hostage and tied me up in the attic. I never thought of the reason, and wondered how he dared to do such a thing in front of the camera. After that, Mark left the attic and talked to Annie. I vaguely heard some words. They seemed to want me to be the next object of sacrifice... At that time... I... didn't understand what the sacrifice was... I thought it was a cult sacrifice... I broke the rope, found the entrance to the basement, and entered the basement through the pipe. Mark found that I had run away and chased me down. I also found explosives and wanted to kill him to escape. As a result, I accidentally revealed the passage behind the wall and entered here."

"But Annie shouldn’t be infected. I knocked her out when I searched the basement just now. If she was parasitized, she wouldn't be knocked out so easily by me, would she?" Qi Leren asked.

He Yi asked: "How did you knock her out?"

"Hitting the nape of her neck."

"Let me think about it... If she was parasitized for no more than one day, it would still be in her brain and wouldn’t have swallowed her internal organs. I remember that at this stage, it may cause the host to be unconscious for a short time." He answered, and continued, "after entering this institute, I found some information. I couldn't read the text, but the picture above linked to Annie and Mark, and I finally put everything together. But it's too late... By now, it's the fourth day. According to the way the octopuses breed, they grow and multiply each day. There is only one on the first day, then two on the second day, and four on the third day. On the fourth day, that is, this evening, their number will surge to eight!"

Eight... This was too much!

Qi Leren thought about it. It was Mark who was infected on the first night, Mark infected Xue Jiahui on the second night, and Mark and Xue Jiahui infected one person respectively on the third night, one of whom was probably Annie.

In this way, Annie was infected for only one day at most.

Fortunately, otherwise, when they had been in the basement, Qi Leren would have faced a hard battle.

Was this the use for bringing two people with EX luck? Qi Leren couldn't help but come up with such a thought.

But tonight, these four octopuses would infect four people again... The time left for him was running out.

He Yi looked at Qi Leren, and the look of horror became more and more dignified: "The octopus has another characteristic... Once the number of octopuses in a closed environment is greater than the number of hosts, the mature octopuses will give up the slow one-on-one infection and start ‘competition'."

"...Competition?" Qi Leren suddenly felt a chill.

He Yi shivered, lowered his voice, and said, "Because the number of parasitic hosts is less than the number of parasites, they will... break out of the body... and, to store energy for hibernation, they begin hunting the humans."

-----

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hood-ex · 4 years ago

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Part 2 of the Dimension Switch Fic.

“Grayson, what on earth are you doing?”

Dick turns his attention away from the meat lover's pizza he’s slicing to look over his shoulder at the kid who’s standing in the middle of the kitchen and giving Dick a disapproving glare. The kid, Damian, has his arms crossed over his long-sleeved shirt, and the way his shoulders are slightly hunched makes him look like a prickly, uncomfortable little cat. Dick would like to think the discomfort comes from the pair of beige chinos the kid is wearing, but if there’s anything he’s learned during his short time in this universe, it’s that Damian isn’t just any ordinary kid. That seems to cross over into how the kid likes to dress himself.

Dick motions to the pizza with the pizza cutter in his hand. “Making pizza. Want a slice?”

“What I want,” Damian says with a curled lip, “is for you to stop prancing around here in an indecent state.” He looks pointedly at Dick’s bare chest as if Dick’s exposed pecs are an offensive faux pas.

Dick cocks his hip against the counter and mirrors Damian’s crossed arms.

“That’s what’s got your thong in a knot?”

It’s only after he’s said it that Dick remembers that particular expression isn’t used in this universe. He’d found that out real quick the other day when he’d used it.

Tim had given him a confused look and asked, “Don’t you mean ‘don’t get your panties in a twist?’”

The kid had then started rambling about how the original phrase involved knickers and was created by the Brits and, well, Tim had reminded him so much of an excited puppy that Dick had just ruffled the kid’s hair after the explanation and gone on his way.

“Richard would never walk around without a shirt unless he was downstairs or in his apartment!” Damian says hotly.

Oh, Dick thinks, he just misses his big brother.

He’d been informed about his 27-year-old counterpart—who he’s secretly been referring to as DG in his head—by Damian the first night he’d arrived in this universe. From what he’d heard, DG did sound kind of awesome. At least, Damian had made him sound that way after explaining that DG had been his Batman. What was less awesome was learning the reason DG became Batman in the first place.

Dick’s only slightly ashamed to admit that when he’d been left to the guest room he’d been given, he’d teared up imagining his dad dying and taking all the comforting warmth from the manor with him.

Even now, the thought of his dad’s death makes his mood sour. He tries not to let it show as he turns back to his pizza to move a few slices over to the plate he prepared.

“When your brother gets back, you can sing his praises for wearing a shirt. Me? I’m gonna keep doing my thing because no one’s gonna die from me not wearing a shirt.”

Dick doesn’t even have to be looking at the kid to know he bristles about one of the things Dick just said.

“Father and Pennyworth will not be pleased!”

Dick shrugs and moves to place the pizza cutter in the dishwasher. “They can tell me if it’s a problem.”

“I’m telling you it’s a problem,” Damian says, and Dick smoothly evades the fingers Damian tries to grip his arm with. Dick returns to his spot at the counter and grabs his plate in one hand and a single piece of pizza in his other.

“And I’m telling you to take a slice of pizza. Last chance.” Dick holds the slice out like some kind of peace offering.

The look of disdain Damian gives him reminds Dick of a wolf with its teeth pulled back in a threatening snarl.

“I’m a vegetarian,” Damian says through gritted teeth.

“You are?” And now Dick kind of feels like an asshole. “My bad, kumquat.”

“Tt!”

Damian marches out of the kitchen with all the rage of a thousand women scorned, and Dick breathes a sigh of relief once he disappears.

He can’t wait to be an only child again.

It’s only when he’s settled in the living room with his pizza and drink sitting on the coffee table that he tries to imagine himself being a big brother. As Starling, he had to deal with kids all the time. Comforting them when they were scared, entertaining them when they needed a distraction, giving them first aid when they were hurt, and holding their hands while waiting for the parents to collect them.

The only kid he knows personally that he’s always been fond of is J’onn’s daughter, K'hym. He’s taken her to the trampoline park a few times, always given her over the top gifts for her birthday, and will gladly give her a piggyback ride when she shyly asks for one. He likes teaching her things too. His chest is always filled with pride and purpose whenever she learns something she didn’t know before all because of him. And the smile he always gets whenever she excitedly wraps her arms around his legs and loudly proclaims how much she missed him? There’s nothing better.

He tries to imagine doing all that and more with four siblings and… he thinks he might like it. He thinks he might be good at it if given the chance. Hell, DG seems to be pretty good at it if the way Tim and Damian talk about him with affection and admiration is any indication.

A frown crosses his face as he thinks about sharing his dad and Alfred with a bunch of other kids. It’s always been just the three of them since he’d been adopted at 4-years-old. Dad’s never shown interest in adopting more kids, probably because Dick’s always been a bit of a handful. Dad’s always been good at combating that by challenging him and keeping his mind sharp, but would he even have time to do stuff like that with Dick if there were more kids in the picture?

Dick wishes he could use this universe’s version of his dad to get some perspective on that. The problem is that Bruce is so different from his dad that he doesn’t think it’ll be a fair comparison. Plus, Bruce’s DG isn’t here so it’s not like Dick can watch them interact anyway.

It simmers on the back burner of his mind as he digs into his pizza and flicks on the TV. He surfs through the channels and ends up stopping on some show called Supernatural that’s got bad acting and janky special effects. He’s only able to watch it for half an hour before his leg starts bouncing out of boredom.

He spends the rest of his day in the cave alone while Bruce is at someplace called the Watchtower to finish making plans with Zatanna. There’s not anything productive for him to do since Bruce doesn’t trust him enough to use the big ass computer or the multiple other monitors that are down here.

Dick takes his time checking out all the cars and motorcycles that come in all different shapes and sizes. Most are sleek and black, and a few have red or white accents. He mostly finds himself drawn to the bikes. He can appreciate a good bike, and he wonders if DG is the same way.

Damian comes down from time to time, claiming to be keeping Dick company. Dick’s not fooled by the lie. He’s come to realize that Damian is just as wary of him as Bruce is, and he knows Damian just wants to keep an eye on him. Dick doesn’t blame the kid. It’s smart not to trust him. Smart, but annoying. He just wishes Damian would at least pretend to hide his intentions better by actually interacting with him rather than awkwardly skulking in the darkness.

Dinner ends up being a lonely affair. Damian congratulates him for finally putting on a shirt and then makes himself scarce. Alfred busies himself with baking a German chocolate cake rather than sitting to eat with him. Yesterday he’d at least had Tim to sit and talk with at the kitchen table. Tim’s not at the manor anymore though, and Dick doesn’t think he’ll get a chance to see him again before he goes back home.

Dick’s not prepared for the feeling of nostalgia that consumes him while he stuffs his mouth full of steak au poivre. He doesn’t know if it's the sight of all the empty chairs at the table or the silence that gets to him. He just knows that he misses his dad. He misses his Alfred. He misses them all sitting together at the table and talking about their days. He misses his dad’s morning hugs. He misses making dinner with Alfred. He misses having his dad’s undivided attention as they talk about everything and nothing. He misses singing dramatic renditions of Bobby Vinton songs with Alfred in the cave.

He feels like there’s some integral piece of himself missing. Like these days don’t matter unless they’re shared with his favorite people. It’s ironic considering he’s surrounded by people who look and talk the same as his family but aren’t them in all the ways that matter. It’s almost worse being around his family’s counterparts because it feels like normalcy is close within his grasp when in reality, it’s far away.

At least the steak here tastes good, Dick thinks as he takes his last bite of meat and washes it down with water.

There’s the sound of soft footsteps coming closer, and Damian suddenly appears in the doorway. He leans against the frame with his arms crossed, pointedly not looking in Dick’s direction.

“Pennyworth,” Damian says, and he waits for Alfred to look at him before continuing. “Father has returned to the cave and requests his dinner be brought downstairs.”

The homesickness and boredom that’s been swelling in Dick’s chest all day finally come to a head, and before he even realizes what he’s doing, he’s already on his feet.

“I’ll take it to him!” he says, and if he sounds a little too excited to do such a menial task, well, sue him. He really wants to see his dad. Even if said dad isn’t technically his real dad. They’re both still Bruce Wayne, and that’s enough for him. For now, at least.

Alfred blinks at him in surprise. Dick’s not sure whether it’s because of the offer itself or the enthusiasm behind it.

“Are you sure, Master Dick? As our guest, we certainly don’t expect you to—”

“I don’t mind,” he assures, waving off Alfred’s concern. “You’re busy making the cake and it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.”

Alfred stares at him for a moment longer, and Dick’s not sure what he’s looking for, but whatever it is, it makes his eyes soften and his smile stretch.

“Very well, sir. I’ll put it all on a tray for you to take down.”

“Tt.” Damian rolls his eyes, pushing off against the frame and disappearing from sight. Dick kind of hopes he’s not going back down to the cave so that Dick can talk to Bruce without feeling Damian glaring daggers into his back.

Dick shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back and forth on his heels while he waits for Alfred to put everything together. He can’t help but think about how his Alfred always hates it when he rocks like this in the middle of the kitchen, claiming that Dick’s restless energy gives him anxiety.

“Here you are,” Alfred says a minute later, offering the tray to him. Dick’s relieved to note that this tray has a cup holder to keep the drink from spilling. He’ll have to tell his Alfred about it when he gets back home. “You can leave the tray with Master Bruce.”

Dick takes the heavy load that makes his arms strain a little. “Thanks, Alf.”

He props the tray up on one hand, preferring to pretend he’s a waiter. He used to love pretending to wait on Bruce and Alfred when he was a kid. He would grab a random notepad and pen from Bruce’s desk, and he would take Bruce and Alfred’s orders. Bruce usually ordered some kind of fruit, and Alfred would typically request something easy like a bottle of water. Dick would happily carry the items to them on a tray, and once the items were accepted, Bruce and Alfred would pretend to pay him and tip him excessively. It was one of Dick’s favorite games to play.

He’s still smiling from the memory when he gets to the cave, and he tries to tamp it down as he approaches the chair Bruce is sitting at in front of the big computer screen. From what he can see, Bruce is wearing the batsuit without the cowl, and even though his eyes are glued to the screen, Dick can see how his shoulders tense the closer Dick gets.

“Hey, Bruce,” Dick greets as he places the tray down on the table’s limited free space. “I got your dinner.”

Bruce stops typing while he looks over the food on the tray with an impassive look. The dark circles under his eyes make the action look more intense than it has any right to be.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, resuming his typing.

Dick waits for some kind of follow up and frowns when there is none. It creates an awkward tension in the air, and for a brief moment, Dick thinks about slinking back up the stairs without another word. The eagerness in his chest won’t let up though, and he decides to poke and prod a little more.

“The steak is really good.” He leans against the side of the computer chair, his right hand dangling so that his fingers barely brush Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce stills at the touch for the briefest second. “You guys eat like kings here. Not that I don’t back home or anything. My Alfred’s an amazing cook too. He usually lets dad cook a few nights a week, and dad’s a good cook, y’know? He’s just not Alfred level good. So sometimes dinner can be kind of hit or miss.”

Bruce finally stops what he’s doing and cranes his head up to look at Dick with an unreadable look that makes Dick shuffle in place. He’s not nervous per se. He’s just… a little unnerved by how hard it is to read Bruce. It’s never this difficult to get a feel for what his dad is thinking.

What Bruce finally ends up saying is, “I don’t cook.”

Dick raises a brow. “Ever?”

“Almost never.”

“Because you suck?”

Dick swears he sees the corner of Bruce’s mouth tilt up just the tiniest bit.

“Hn. That’s what I’ve been told.”

Dick pats Bruce on the shoulder consolingly, the material of the cape feeling rough and heavy against his fingers.

“I guess we can’t all be Gordon Hamsay’s.”

Bruce’s brow furrows. “Hamsay? It’s Ramsay in this universe.”

“Ramsay?” Dick says incredulously. “That sounds so weird.”

“Hamsay sounds wrong to me,” Bruce shrugs.

Dick clucks his tongue. “This universe fuckery is too much.”

“Speaking of which,” Bruce says, and any trace of lightheartedness is snuffed out of his tone. Now he’s all Batman, and Dick feels himself straightening out of habit. “We’ll be able to send you home this time tomorrow.”

Dick smiles, his heart leaping. Images of hugging his parents, sleeping in his own bed, and going out as Skywing flash through his mind.

“Really?”

“Zatanna pinpointed your universe a few hours ago. We decided to wait to make the switch until tomorrow when Doctor Fate is available to help us.”

Dick curls his fingers in his hair and tugs on the strands, trying to ignore the way his eyes sting. Home. He’s going home! He’s going back to his life! To his people! To his… everything!

“How are we gonna do it?” he asks a little breathlessly.

Bruce turns away from him and looks back at the computer.

“That’s classified.”

“Sorry… what?” He doesn’t mean to shout, but he can’t help it because… what? “I’m not allowed to know how I’m getting home?”

“You know Zatanna is involved. What more do you need?”

“How about some details so I know you’re not just going to punt me off into the abyss!”

“That would require trusting you,” Bruce says, and okay, Dick knows as much. But still. Ow.

“And I get that! I just—” He takes a deep breath to calm himself down. “Look. I’m not asking you to give me the exact damn spell we’re going to be using, okay? I just want to know the gist of the plan. Am I going to have to do anything? Am I going by myself? Is Zatanna—”

“The plan is to take you back to your world tomorrow. End of story.”

Dick can feel something dark and ugly start to bubble up inside of him. He crosses his arms over his chest and holds on tight to keep himself from doing something childish like shoving Bruce’s rolly chair.

“What? You think giving me even the smallest bit of insight is going to be enough for me to blow up your whole world or something?”

“It could be. You could have sent yourself here to kill us for all I know.”

“Bullshit! If you really believed that, you wouldn’t let me stay here!”

“Wouldn’t I?” And now Bruce is on his feet and using his height advantage to loom over Dick like a dark shadow. “You think I’d rather have you out in the city where I can’t monitor you?”

“What I think,” Dick spits, “is that you’re a control freak.”

Dick thinks maybe Bruce has heard that before based on his lack of reaction to it.

“How many experiences have you had like this back in your world?” Bruce asks, stepping closer. Dick stands his ground, and they’re so close that he can feel Bruce’s body heat. “How many times have you had people from other universes invade your own?”

“I—” Dick scowls. “None.”

“Well, we’ve had our fair share of experiences with evil counterparts coming here to kill us and destroy our universe.” Dick blinks at the fury laced in Bruce’s voice. “So you need to understand that I won’t compromise our safety by giving you information you could use against us.”

Nothing’s funny, but Dick laughs anyway, and it’s like the grinding of a car that won’t start.

“You know what?” he asks, raking his fingers through his hair so hard that his scalp stings. “My dad would have trusted his friend with the truth compelling lasso to make any alternate counterpart’s intentions clear. But not you, right? You won’t—”

Bruce slams his hand on the table so hard that the black pen holder falls on its side and sends a handful of pens clattering to the floor.

Dick doesn’t even flinch.

“We’re done here. Upstairs. Now.”

Bruce’s face is cold like a blank mask that’s hard and unforgiving.

He’s seen his dad look that way at criminals before. Never at him. Never at his son.

Except he’s not this Bruce’s son, is he? And this Bruce isn’t his dad. This Bruce could never be his dad. Not with a look like that.

A knot forms in Dick’s throat. He should have stayed upstairs. He would have been bored, and he would have made himself so homesick he probably would have cried, but at least he wouldn’t feel like this.

Dejected. Sad. Miserable.

Lonely.

The worst thing is knowing that the way he feels is partly his fault.

He came down here looking for his dad, and instead, he got Bruce.

#Bruce Wayne #Dick Grayson #Damian Wayne #Alfred Pennyworth #my fic

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